


Primary Emotion

by amaradangeli



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 77,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seventeen weeks of torture in a Goa'uld prison, Samantha Carter is rescued by SG-1. In the time that follows she must relearn how to relate to her team, reassess her relationships with both herself and others, and decide whether or not she'll continue to step through the Stargate. Luckily she's got the benefit of a good psychologist and the love of a great man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tertiary Emotion: Dread

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I've been working on for a couple of years. It started out as a vague idea and one day, as if plucked from the ether, it became a reality. It is a WIP but I've worked quite a bit ahead.
> 
> (This story is cross posted to FFN.)
> 
> This story is not told linearly. If you're having trouble following what happens and when, please visit the [Primary Emotion Timeline](http://www.tiki-toki.com/timeline/entry/198047/Primary-Emotion/).
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/semiresponsive1/35747322962/in/album-72157683563675853/)  
> Nominated for Best Angst, Best Original Character, Best Drama & Best Mature

 

**Part I: Fear**

She’s been reduced to dread.  Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, where her education now resides, she remembers dread being a tertiary emotion.  It’s the only emotion she’s conscious of feeling anymore. 

Heavy footsteps echo down the hall.  The loose bits of metal on the wall jingle together as the footsteps draw closer.  Armor clinks and she feels the sound down deep in her marrow.  The tap of a staff weapon on the stone floor makes her gnash her teeth.

A Jaffa, broad and dark, pierces her with his eyes.  He reaches for the bars that imprison her and she can’t even find what it takes to be frightened.

It’s going to happen again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Metal cuffs bite into her wrists.  It doesn’t exactly hurt anymore.  Blood drips down the side of her head and tickles her ear.  A giggle bubbles up from within her but she wouldn’t call it anything.  An autonomic response, maybe.  Nothing more.  She can’t even remember the last time she giggled. 

_No giggling._

She sobers.  No giggling.  Right. 

She hears footsteps again and despite everything she sighs with relief.  She’s been hanging by her wrists for a while and her shoulders are beginning to ache.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She doesn’t really sleep anymore.  She closes her eyes, her breathing slows, and she pushes thoughts of anything –thoughts of home – down into whatever safe place might yet be inside her.  She might even stop thinking.  It’s not like she’s thought of anything of consequence in…she’s not sure how long.  She’s not even sure how long she’s been here. 

Food doesn’t come at any sort of regular interval.  Water neither.  There’s no light to be had save for firelight sconces in a dank hall she can almost see down from the front corner of her cell she doesn’t venture to anymore.

He comes at any time.  So no, she doesn’t sleep anymore.  Sometimes she finds she blinks out for a moment but it’s usually when she’s strung up on the wall.  When she’s comparatively comfortable?  No.  Sleep is a weakness anyway.  And she learned long ago that weakness is punished with a stronger hand than pride.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The smell makes her think she might be underground.  It smells like dirt where she is.  Or maybe it’s her that smells like dirt.  She’d never know – he’s always got the same scowl on his face like he’s smelled something awful.  Except when he makes her bleed.

He’d have a nice smile if only she could see it without a haze of blood over her eyes.  It makes his teeth red and that leaves her feeling vaguely unsettled.

When she’s lying on the floor with her cheek against the cold, hard-packed clay, the smell of earth is so strong she can’t imagine she’s anywhere but underground.  Which seems awfully fitting.  She wonders how far it might be. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She tries to make the most of her lucid moments – the odd moments when things make sense and she remembers she’s trained to get the hell out of situations like these.

She seems to remember having had help but she can’t imagine who that might have been.  She remembers someone called Carter.  She remembers Teal’c most often, but that’s because the Jaffa reminds her so much of him.  She remembers a Daniel.  She remembers a Jack.  But she can’t remember why she knows them.

Sometimes when the light reflects from the hall, off Jaffa armor, onto the wall of her cell, the green of the moss there makes her think of home.  But she can’t remember living anywhere but here.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In one corner of the cell is her hill.  It’s not much, but it’s important when the water comes.  At first, when the water came, she’d be under it or desperate to keep her nose above it.  It took forever and ten bloody fingernails to fashion her hill but at least now her face is above the water and all she has to do is lie there.

That’s good because she doesn’t feel much like doing anything but lying around anymore.  He still strings her up from time to time, but mostly now he does what he needs to do while she lays prostrate on the floor.

That’s good – because she can’t even think about moving her shoulders without having to swallow down bitter bile.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sometimes the pain stick makes her fingers itch for the trigger of an automatic weapon.  She has vivid memories of an automatic weapon and a firing range.  And her father.  She can’t remember a single thing about her family except for the vivid image of her father in a blue uniform taking a rifle out of her hands and pulling her into a hug.

She remembers the feel of heavy clothing, which is strange because she can’t even remember the last time she had clothing.  It’s been so unimportant for so long she can’t even imagine why she would have been wearing it.

It doesn’t stop anything from happening.  It doesn’t stop anything from hurting.  It doesn’t even stop anyone from looking.  And since she can’t really use her arms or hands anymore, she’s pretty thankful that she doesn’t have any to contend with.

Besides, the layers of grime that cover her provide her more modesty than any clothing ever could. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She hears something that sounds like thunder.  She can’t even remember the last time weather meant anything to her.  Blue light bounces down the hall and it puts her in mind of lightning.  Strange that a storm would be happening underground.

Then she hears voices that speak the same language she speaks in her head.  She hasn’t heard words like that from another voice in so long.

But hanging back up on the wall, this time by more useful ankles, she figures that it doesn’t really matter what words the weather might be throwing around down here.  He’ll be back eventually, and no amount of rain could solve anything.

Her eyes slip closed and she lets the thunder of the voices wash over her and she thinks of a place that might have been home.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Her eyes spring open when cool hands fasten around her calves and warmer hands tickle her feet as they try to remove the shackles.  The only things in her field of vision are combat boots – eight of them.  She remembers having had combat boots but can’t imagine why she would have.

The hands continue to tickle at her feet and ankles and she tries to jerk away from the feeling.

“Easy, we’ve got you now.”

“I think there’s something wrong with her arms.”

“She needs fluids.”

“She _needs_ to be down from here.”

“I believe she is conscious.”

She slams her eyes closed.  It’s always better when they think she’s unconscious.  But then her feet are free and instead of falling she’s laid down gently so her feet rest on her hill.

Fingers press against her neck.  “Her pulse is very weak.  She needs fluids immediately.  We’ll need a stretcher.”

“She going to be okay going through the gate?”

“She’ll have to be.”

“It is unwise to remain here any longer.”

Cautiously she opens her eyes again.  These people can’t possibly mean to hurt her.  Her eyes meet worried brown ones.

“Can you hear me?”

She nods.

“Good.  We’re going to move you now.”

Eight hands lift her off the ground and the pain is so intense she can’t help but sleep.  Finally.


	2. Secondary Emotion: Nervousness

When she opens her eyes there’s so much light she can’t help but squeeze them shut again.  She can’t remember ever having seen so much light.  She finds it a wonder that light can be as blinding as darkness.

“Sam?”

She waits and wonders if Sam’s voice will sound familiar.  The others did, now that she thinks back on it.  She’s not quite sure who they were but they were familiar.

Sam doesn’t answer so she opens her eyes again.  The light still hurts but she manages to keep her eyes open through one quick breath before she closes them again.

“Carter?”

Carter.  That’s another name she remembers.  No voice is forthcoming.  Why don’t these people talk?  Of course, she’s spent the last forever willing _him_ to shut up, so perhaps she’s finally been granted her wish.

She tries her eyes one more time.  This time she squints and the worried brown eyes are back.  She looks down to a pert nose and further still to soft, slightly scowling lips.  The lips move, “Sam?”  Brown Eyes is looking right at her.

She looks down further and sees a name tag, “Fraiser.”  She can’t imagine how she can read the strange writing, but it looks like the language sounds in her head so she thinks she must really have been able to read something once.

“Sam, can you hear me?”

Fraiser seems to be talking to her.  She opens her mouth to speak, can feel her lips move, hears an odd scratching sound come out of her mouth – but it doesn’t sound anything like the language in her head.

“I don’t think she can talk, doc.”

Fraiser glances away with an irritated look on her face.  “Thank you, Colonel.”

She turns her head to towards the other voice.  More brown eyes.  She looks down the face again – strong, whiskery jaw, tanned skin, name tag, “O’Neill”.  She looks back up.  This one is familiar to her but the name is wrong.  The voice stirs something within her, though.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Natalie collapses into the brown leather chair and cringes as the castors scrape across the concrete floor.  There are files spilling out of a four-drawer filing cabinet, piled high along a cheap metal credenza, and obscuring the top of her desk.  It’s a fine mess left to her by Dr. Mackenzie.

Nearly twenty airmen are on scheduled sessions and another thirty require at least a single follow-up of some kind.  A dozen are awaiting post-mission reviews.  Seven require pre-posting determinations.

She sighs.  All of this and she’s still reeling over the news that her patients require her expertise thanks to events that happened _on other planets_.

A knock on her open office door grabs her attention.  The tiny woman she instantly recognizes as the base Chief Medical Officer, Janet Fraiser.

“Doctor Jordan?”

Natalie stands and smoothes her hands over hair that had been, six hours ago, relatively dry and frizz-free.  “Yes.  Doctor Fraiser, right?”

Doctor Fraiser nods.  “Looks like you’re…” the doctor trails off and casts a wary glance around the office, “absolutely buried.”  A bright grin flashes across her mouth but lines of stress etched deep around her eyes don’t ease.

“Apparently you guys are breaking all kinds of records here.”  Natalie tries for disarming but thinks she comes off a little too sarcastic.  She shakes her head.  “Sorry.  You needed something?”

Doctor Fraiser steps further into the room and Natalie notices a thick manila folder in her hand.  “We recovered an SG team member from a Goa'uld prison off world yesterday.  She’s going to need an eval.”

Natalie takes the folder and flips it open.  “Samantha Carter.  Major.  Presents with—“ she cuts off her narration with a thick exhale but continues reading page after page of injuries in the stark relief of laser toner and military grade paper.  “She’s speaking?” she finally asks when it seems like every other question is six kinds of pointless.

Doctor Fraiser shrugs a little with just one shoulder.  “Yeah.”

“Impressive,” Natalie says more to herself than to the other doctor.

“You’ll find most things about Sam are pretty damn impressive.”

The way the woman says it makes Natalie observe, “You’re friends.”

Same shrug, same half answer.  “Yeah.”

“Are you close?”

Doctor Fraiser looks uncomfortable and suddenly Natalie is grateful she’s not military herself.  “It’s okay, Doctor.  There’s nothing wrong with friendship.”

“Yeah, well…”  She does that maddening half shrug once more and Natalie can’t help but think Janet Fraiser might benefit from a few sessions of her own.

“Well,” Natalie says and flips the folder closed, “send her down when you’re ready.  It’ll probably be, what?  Four days?  Six?  Until you release her?”

“She’s got three dislocated joints, various breaks and fractures, a crushed trachea, and a lacerated gall bladder.”  Doctor Fraiser says these things with a hint of incredulity.

“So you’re saying it’ll be longer?”

“I’m saying it’ll be longer.”

“I’ll come to her, then,” Natalie says.  But she’s talking to Doctor Fraiser’s back.  She thinks she probably made a bad impression.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Two days later Natalie still hasn’t made it up to start Major Carter’s evaluation and when Jack O’Neill steps into her office she really wishes she’d had more time. 

“You’re the new head shrinker, right?” he opens without even a hint of kindness.

“I am,” she says as she stands up from the nest of boxes she’s been in since seven that morning.  She glances at her watch as she brushes dust bunnies off her slacks.  Three o’clock.  She wonders idly if the commissary is still serving lunch.  “And you’re Jack O’Neill.”  His file was in the pile of necessary follow-ups.

“You need to clear Carter.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Major Carter.  You have to clear her before she can resume her duties.  You haven’t seen her yet.”

“Mister O’Neill—“

“Colonel.” He says it with such a hard glint in his eye that she very nearly laughs.  But she suspects men like Jack O’Neill don’t much like being laughed at.

“Colonel O’Neill,” she placates, “it’s my understanding that Major Carter will be in the infirmary for quite some time longer.  And also that she’s having a bit of trouble speaking at the moment.  And furthermore, that even if I cleared her for gate travel at this very moment, there are quite a few physical requirements she’ll still need to meet.”

He shifts uncomfortably.  He’s clearly a man that’s both used to being in charge and also used to action.  He’s silent and she thinks, in the situation they’re in, that it’s a very uncharacteristic reaction.

“Colonel,” she says more kindly, “I’m still getting my feet under me.  As you can see,” she gestures around the office, “things were left in quite a state.  I understand Major Carter is important to you all—“

“Who else has been here?”

“Well, Doctor Fraiser brought me her file.” She shakes her head to clear it.  “I understand Major Carter’s importance here.  And I will do her evaluation.  But honestly, Colonel, whether it happens yesterday or five days from now matters not.  She’s healing.  She’s got a good bit of physical healing to do before we can even start on emotional healing.”

“You haven’t even evaluated her yet.  For all you know all the healing she’s got to do is physical.”

But Natalie can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t believe what he’s just said.  She gestures at a chair despite being certain he’s not the kind of man who sits when he could be standing.  She sinks into a chair anyway.  “I’ve been doing this a long time.  Fifteen years, in fact.  My specialty is PTSD and I’ve been working with POWs for the last ten years.  I know that the things Major Carter experienced while she was in that prison are going to affect her.  No, I’ve never met her.  I don’t know how things are going to manifest.  But I can _guarantee you_ that things _are_ going to manifest.  We’re going to have some significant work to do before she gets back the façade she had before.”

And then, to her complete and utter surprise, Jack O’Neill sinks brokenly into a grey fabric chair.  He scrubs a hand through his short, silver hair and suddenly he looks very old and not at all like the intimidating soldier who’d marched into her office moments ago.

She sighs.  “You’re friends.”  It’s the second time she’s observed the same and she’s beginning to get the impression that everyone’s got a soft spot in their hearts for Samantha Carter.

“She’s my second in command.”

“But she’s your friend.”

“She’s my _second_ in _command_ ,” he says again in a way that, for most people she’s certain, would brook no argument.

“But,” she says slowly as if to a child, “she’s your _friend_.”

“Look, doc,” he says suddenly standing, “I’m her CO.  It’s my job to make sure everything is clicking along for her return to her duties.”

“Colonel, sit down,” she says in the voice that generally makes people do what she’s asking.  She’s seventy percent sure it won’t work on Jack O’Neill and she’s right.  She tries a different tack.  “Colonel?  Please?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her but does as she asks.

“I understand that the military has regulations.  I understand that relationships aren’t meant to get too deep, too close.  But I’m not accusing you of anything here.  You’re friends.  I could tell even if I hadn’t gotten my doctorate in psychology.  Not for nothing, but I could tell Doctor Fraiser is her friend, too.  What I can’t figure out is why you’re all so hell bent on convincing me you’re not her friends.  To be honest with you, she’s going to need friends.  Lots of ‘em.  This isn’t going to be an easy process for her.

“As her commanding officer, you’re privy to the recount of what happened to her in that prison, right?  And to her medical condition now?” 

He sighs again and she suspects that’s all she’ll get from him by way of any emotion that isn’t anger.  “Yeah.”

“And I’ve read your file, too.  I know your history.  You’ve been _exactly_ where she is right now.  You remember what it took to get through it?”

“Yeah,” he says, warily this time. 

“Well, that’s what she’s in for.  Major Carter isn’t married.  Does she have a close family?  A boyfriend?  Hell, a dog?”

“No,” he hedges.

“No.  What she does have, Colonel, are her friends.  She’s got you all.  Her team.  She’s going to need you to be a friend long before she’s going to need you to be her commanding officer.”  She lets him stare in her general direction for a moment.  “Now, Colonel, if you’ll excuse me.  I’ve got several more _boxes_ of files to get through.  And then I’ve got some evaluations to get done.  Please, stop on your way out and make an appointment with Airman Cullison.  You’re way overdue for a follow-up and it’s about time I started making a dent in those.”

She swivels her chair away from him before he can even rise and she gets the impression he’s not a man who spends much time getting dismissed.  She thinks the sensation will probably do him a bit of good.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Carter, I think you should get a dog.”

She looks up from her jello.  “Um, what?”  She’s not sure she’s up for getting her sweater off the table next to her and he wants her to get a dog?

“A dog, you know.  For the company.”

“I don’t think Janet’s going to let me have a dog in the infirmary.”

A look passes across his face as if he just realized she’s going to be taking up space in the infirmary for quite a bit longer.  She can promise him it’s something she’s been dwelling on for quite some time.  As if she hadn’t been a prisoner long enough.  She’d seen the date on the news three days ago.  She’d been missing for seventeen weeks. 

“Sir.”  She tacks it on as an afterthought, but then she realizes it had been nearly a minute since she’d last spoken and it likely came across as pissy and insubordinate.  Well…tough.


	3. Tertiary Emotion: Mortification

Natalie's first meeting with Major Carter didn't go well. She found the woman wholly distrustful of new people but isn't sure if the issue is related to Major Carter's recent trauma or some previous issue.

The second meeting wasn't much better, but at least the Major hadn't scowled at her the whole time. While she was still disinclined to share information, she hadn't been rude.

But, Natalie is nothing if not persistent and she's always been a big believer that the third time really is a charm.

When she knocks on the slightly ajar door and sticks her head into the private room Major Carter is occupying, she's pleasantly surprised to see all of SG-1 present. By happy accident she's caught her patient in a moment of relaxation and, perhaps, levity. But as soon as the group notices Natalie's presence the low chuckles cease entirely.

Doctor Jackson is the first to find his manners. He clears his throat before he speaks and, for some reason, she thinks it's annoying. "Doctor Jordan. Hi."

Natalie flashes a smile. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I can come back later." She gestures over her shoulder as if she's prepared to just up and leave. She isn't.

Colonel O'Neill surprises her. "Eh, c'mon in, Doc. We were just headed out to pick up some not-made-on-base food for picky here."

She'd have thought he'd be slightly protective of the Major. Had thought he'd, perhaps, try to stick around and get a little inside information. But then she takes in the dynamics of the room. The large man whose name she can't remember – the one with the gold snake on his forehead – stands at parade rest at the foot of the hospital bed. Doctor Jackson sits on a stool right next to the bed at Major Carter's waist. But O'Neill… O'Neill is standing at Major Carter's shoulders, feet at shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his chest. Moreover, he'd been standing that way when Natalie walked in. Either he wasn't getting the information he wanted from the Major or he'd gotten some information and wasn't feeling very good about it. And considering the situation, either was as likely as the other.

Daniel and the other man leave the room while shooting Natalie polite smiles. Well, Daniel smiled. The other man just sort of…nodded. But then Colonel O'Neill surprises her again. When it's just him and the two women, he says loud enough for Major Carter to hear, "I've got an appointment tomorrow morning, first thing. See you then, Doc." And then he's gone, too. Interesting, but she's not sure what to make of the time or placement of his statement.

Without her bodyguards, Natalie notices Major Carter suddenly looks uncomfortable. So, she decides to ease into conversation if she can. "How're you feeling today, Major Carter."

The blonde woman blinks and Natalie finds herself transfixed, momentarily, by the blue of her eyes. Natalie's own eyes are the very same blue. She gives herself a mental shake – _don't identify with the patient, Nat._

Samantha Carter doesn't break ranks. She's just as abrupt today as she's been previously. "As well as can be expected."

Natalie moves further into the room and takes a seat on the stool that Doctor Jackson vacated. "You're looking better everyday," Natalie tells her. And she does. Actually, Natalie's surprised by how quickly the woman's bruising is fading and minor lacerations are healing.

Major Carter takes a moment to size her up and apparently doesn't find her too lacking because she shares, "My father's here. He's Tok'ra."

"Ah, I see."

Inexplicably, the Major cracks a smile. "I thought you guys only said that in movies."

Natalie can't help but laugh. "Well, it's cliché for a reason."

"Just don't use that line on Colonel O'Neill. He hates clichés."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." How strange the woman would share something like that. And she must have a puzzled look on her face.

Major Carter's voice takes on a conspiratorial tone. "Actually, he's kind of nuts about clichés. He's full of them. He'll roll his eyes if you use one. Might even give you hell for it. But he's got a good sense of humor and he'll talk to you if you don't pretend to be his friend or get too high and mighty about psychological treatment."

"Thanks. Again." But Natalie can see this for what it is and so changes the subject. "You mentioned your father's a Tok'ra. I'm sorry…but I'm not really sure how that pertains…"

Major Carter sighs and Natalie knows then that she was right. The interlude on Colonel O'Neill was meant to be a diversionary tactic. But to Natalie's surprise, Major Carter answers honestly. "The Tok'ra are a divergence of the Goa'uld line. That means they can use Goa'uld technology. In this case, a healing device. But my injuries are so severe…"

"…That it's going to take a little while," Natalie surmises.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm glad he's here and able to help, then."

Major Carter grimaces slightly but schools her features quickly. "Me too."

Natalie decides to take an opportunity hoping it won't bite her in the ass. But she's gotten this far by being a bit gutsy and a little less than as politically correct as others in her position might be. "I did just step in to check on you today. But you know eventually we're going to have a slightly more…professional…interaction, right."

"Yes," Major Carter says hesitantly.

"I think I can help you work through these things, Major Carter. I'll tell you now, if you don't like me, don't want to work with me, we'll find you someone you _can_ talk to. But make no mistake. The Air Force is going to demand you deal with this in psychological treatment and you will need to be cleared before you can return to active duty. I've read your report and the medical records," she pauses while Major Carter blushes a deep red, "so I know what you're starting with. I've worked with people who have had similar experiences at the hands of earth-bound terrorists. I'm not sure how it's going to differ from what you experienced but I think we can help you. Together."

"Well then," Major Carter says after a long moment, "maybe you should start by calling me Sam."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She dreams when she sleeps so she tries very hard not to sleep. But between Janet's drugs and the flu virus her body wasn't strong enough to fend off, sleep claims her more often than she'd like. When she's awake she tries to keep up the good little soldier act everyone seems to prefer. The truth is, though, that she'd rather not talk, is physically pained by smiling or laughing, pretends to find the humor in things that used to make her laugh readily, and just really wants the guys to leave her alone.

She's angry that they left her. It doesn't matter that she knows they didn't leave her on purpose. It doesn't matter that they must have worked tirelessly to get her home – of course, she doesn't know that for certain because anytime someone starts to talk about the time when she was away she promptly changes the subject. It certainly doesn't matter that they're her guys and she knows they love her.

All she can think is that they left her there to be beaten. Left her there to be tortured. To forget that there was any life that wasn't the life she had in that cell. Left her there to forget who and what she was. To forget her history. Left her there to contemplate never having a future.

Mostly, though, she's absolutely mortified that those three men, the guys she always thinks of as _hers_ , not to mention the General and her father, and Janet, and now even Doctor Jordan… they all _know._ They know precisely how she'd been tortured. How she'd been _violated_. And she's absolutely positive no matter how much healing she does that they'll never look at her the same again. How could they? She'd been nothing more than trash to be used however the Jaffa had wanted. She'd been compost for seventeen weeks. And even if they could somehow look past that, how could they ever trust her again? Even if, by the grace of something wild and holy, she was cleared for active duty again, how could they trust that she wouldn't break? That she wouldn't falter at some crucial moment and get them all killed or worse? Because something she now knows first hand is that there are many things out there worse than death.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 _She's putting on a hell of an act_ – Jack can't help but think every time he sees her. Sure, she smiles. Sometimes she laughs. She holds up her end of a conversation. She doesn't complain about the pain she's got to be feeling – Tok'ra healing device or not. It's her eyes. The light has absolutely gone out.

He shifts in the chair where he's waiting outside Doc Jordan's office. She's apparently got a parade of airman this morning, hustling them in and out for their Mackenzie mandated follow ups. He's only met the woman a few times and already he thinks she's a better fit for the SGC than that shrub ever was. She's got a spark, a little bit of feistiness, that puts him in mind of the other lady doctors he spends time around. And she gives as good as she gets. He likes that. Hell, he was here, wasn't he?

Also, he figured this was as good a way as any to size her up and make sure she really does have Carter's best interests at heart. He may not hate the woman, but he still didn't think all this psychobabble was really necessary. They were all military – they thrive on being able to stand alone, strong in their ranks. And no amount of touchy-feely crap could really help.

Except, what Carter went through was damn awful. He should know. There wasn't a thing those Goa'uld-incubating bastards did to her that he didn't have done to him in an Iraqi prison. Where the Jaffa used pain sticks, the insurgents used car batteries. Just as the Jaffa had stripped her down to wear her down, so had the Iraqi done to him. Just as they had violated her, he had been violated.

As his thoughts begin to spiral into the place that makes him rage, Doctor Jordan pops her head out of her office. "Colonel O'Neill? I'm ready for you."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Natalie curls up on her couch that night she sobs. This job, these people…she's not sure how they do what they do, how they see what they see and keep going. She's brushed up against all the elements she encountered that day hundreds of times over the course of her career. But somehow the gate travel, the enormity of what they're doing, it just hits her in her solar plexus.

When Erin comes in twenty minutes later, Natalie turns her face away from a kiss. She wants the comfort, but she had a case of the ugly, messy sobs. Instead, Erin wraps her grandmother's crocheted afghan around Natalie's shoulders and presses a vanilla latte into her hand. She'll be ready to start again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who have taken the time to read and drop me a line so far. Equal thanks to those, also, who have chosen just to read along - I hope you enjoy. I try, as often as possible, to respond to reviews - especially when specific questions are raised. Anonymous reviews are enabled but please remember I cannot respond if you don't sign in.
> 
> A note for those who are new to my work - I write because I love it. I write because I physically have to. My stories are precisely what they are. I don't change my route based on feedback (though I will correct mistakes when they're pointed out and I'd love it if you told me when you found one!). I don't write for the reviews (though they're lovely) and will never hold my readership hostage for them or badger you for them. But most of all, rest assured that it will all come together. If some characterization doesn't make sense or if a plot point doesn't yet make sense, rest in comfort knowing an answer is coming your way. And no, I'm not going to spoil my work by telling you ahead of time - where's the fun in that?
> 
> As you may have noticed, I'm not posting on a schedule. I write and post as I have enough in the "bank" that if I have a dry spell it won't bring the story to a grinding halt (I've learned my lesson in that department). So, with all that said, on with the real reason you're here - the story.


	4. Primary Emotion: Fear

Natalie has to admit she’s surprised to see Sam sitting across from her after only twelve days in the infirmary.  In that time she’s been able to turn the office into something that more resembles a living room than an institutional supply closet.  It doesn’t seem to matter if she’s treating civilians or servicemen; they'd all rather sit on a couch than peer at her across metal desk.

“Daniel told me he’d come to see you.”

Natalie just waits.  There might have been a full stop at the end of that sentence, but Sam certainly isn’t done.

“About me.”

Natalie nods.  “Yes, he did.”

“And?”

“And you’re welcome to talk to him about what was said here.”  At Sam’s hard look she continues, “It would be counterproductive, _today_ , for us to talk about how this situation is affecting your teammates.  Or to talk about what they are peripherally thinking about how you’re handling things.  They know you better than anyone here.  I’d venture a guess that they know you better than anyone at all.  But I also know they’re getting some bad intel.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re hiding.  Of course you’re still hiding.  This is a big thing to deal with.  It’s going to pop up in the strangest places even though you’ve already started fitting your life back together.  But here’s the thing: I’ve talked to them all.  And not one of them has mentioned that you’re scared.  I’ve heard angry.  I’ve heard sullen.  I’ve even heard ‘strangely okay’.” 

“I’m not scared,” Sam says flippantly.

“And I’m not new,” Natalie counters.  She gestures to the corner of the room where a small table with a coffee pot sits.  “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m going to fix a cup,” she cajoles.

“No.  Thank you.”  Sam waits until Natalie sits back down.  “I am angry.”

“Okay.  Why?”

“Why?!” Sam scoffs.

“Yes.  I don’t blame you.  I think a lot of people would be angry.  I want to know, _specifically_ , why _you_ are angry.”

“I was beaten, raped and tortured.  Wouldn’t you be angry?”

“Sure.  But why are _you_ angry.”

Sam stands suddenly and for a moment Natalie is sure she’s going to flee.  But instead she starts pacing back and forth across the small space with a definite limp.  “I’m angry about _everything_!” Sam shouts when her back is to Natalie and she hopes Airman Cullison really is discreet because there’s no way he hadn’t heard Sam’s outburst.

“They left me there,” Sam says with quiet contempt. 

Natalie fights the urge to validate the statement.

“The things I endured, no one should _ever_ have to live through that.  I’m angry because I can’t do my job now because of what’s been done to me.  I’m angry because I’m not the person I was before that mission.  I’m angry because I can never be that person again.  I’m always, from now on, going to be a person that experienced those things on that planet.”

Sam’s still facing away from her when Natalie says, “There are different kinds of emotions.  There are emotions we call primary.  Those are the big ones, like anger.  Also, fear.  What you’re experiencing right now, Sam, isn’t really anger.”

Sam wheels around, her mouth open to retort.

“No, hear me out.” Natalie holds up a forestalling hand.  “These things you’re saying are rooted in fear.  ‘ _I’m scared I won’t be able to do my job because of what’s been done to me.’  ‘I’m scared I won’t be the person I was before that mission.’  ‘I’m scared I’ll never be her again.’  ‘I’m scared I’ll never move past what happened on that planet.’_   That’s what I heard.  It’s in your voice.

“Here’s the thing, Sam.  You will, eventually, be able to do your job.  You will be the woman you were before the mission and you’ll be her even though you experienced the things you did.  And you will learn to move past those things. I think you’re not as sure as I am.  That’s not anger.  It’s fear.”

Sam sits back down and Natalie leans back in her seat.

“When people experience trauma, especially trauma associated with imprisonment, sometimes they start to have a tough time identifying emotions.  Hell, some people are just generally bad at identifying emotions.  They’re tricky.  And the truth is, you might not really know what you’re feeling unless you understand which underlying issue is driving the emotion.”

“So I’m scared?”

“What does being happy feel like?”

Sam sputters for a moment, opening and closing her mouth.  “Well, I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Try.”

Sam gapes at her.  “I can’t!”

“When was the last time you felt happy?”

“Before I was left on that planet,” she spits.

“Specifically.”

“I don’t know, Doctor.”

Natalie looks at Sam and she looks exhausted.  They’ve only been talking for a few minutes but it’s enough for the moment.  “I think we’re done for today.”

“What,” Sam says sarcastically, “we don’t get an hour?”

“Sessions very rarely last an hour anywhere.  You’re lucky if you get forty-five minutes.”  Natalie closes her notebook with a smile.  “But we’re not on any time constraints.  We’re done when we’re done.  And today we’re done now.  My door’s always open to you.  If you want to talk later, come on by.  But you look like you could use a break.  And maybe a sandwich.”

Sam looks like she thinks Natalie’s quite off her rocker.

“Honestly, Sam.  This really isn’t like what you’ve seen on television.   We’re not going to meet once a week for an hour.  I’m not going to make you lie down on a couch and tell you how your dreams are all about sex and how it’s all your mother’s fault.  We’ll work on what we can when we can and the rest of the time we’ll just make sure you’re getting through the day to day.”

“Okay,” Sam says sounding more relaxed than Natalie had ever heard her.  “Then one last thing before I go.  If this is about getting me through the day to day, how do I get through conversations with my team when all I really want to do is beat the crap out of all of them?”

Natalie laughs and appreciates the small grin it brings to Sam’s lips.  “You remember that they’re also the ones who brought you home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You know, I’m not so sure you’re actually a psychologist.”

“Well then,” she echoed one of Sam’s earlier statements, “perhaps you’d better call me Natalie.”

 -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack throws another punishing punch at the bag and revels in the sharp spikes of pain that travel up his forearm from his knuckles.  The skin splits and it occurs to him he should have taped his hands.  He swings again.  Eh, too late already anyway.

He seethes with anger.  He never seems to say the right things to Carter.  She’s floundering.  She’s not even faking anything well.  He knows she must be angry with him.  With all of them.  But he can’t bring himself to ask her outright.  She’d lie anyway.  And he’s terrified to hear her voice what he already knows to be true.  He’s terrified she’s not going to be cleared for active duty.  Mostly, he’s terrified she’ll never forgive him.

He thinks back.  He never really forgave Frank Cromwell.  Oh sure, he turned from mad as hell to caustic.  And he may have even found a little of the old kinship as he watched his old friend sucked through the event horizon to his death.  But no, he never really forgave him.  And he’ll always hate Frank at least a little for his part in the worst chapter of Jack’s life. 

And Jack hates himself a little, too, because he knows exactly what Sam’s going through – as much as empathy can transfer – and he has absolutely no idea what to say to her.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam pokes at the soggy white bread that lays lifelessly atop something that vaguely resembles tuna salad.  She’s come to a place where base food makes her irrationally angry. Base food.  Base lighting.  Base beds.  Base smells.  Base people.  She pictures smashing all them against constricting grey base walls. 

“Would you like something else, Major Carter?”

Sam sighs but doesn’t look up.  “No, Teal’c, I wouldn’t.”

He sits down across from her without invitation and suddenly she’s picturing smashing Teal’c up against the block wall.  She snorts because even if she ever were capable of such a feat, she’s certainly not now after seventeen weeks of torture and starvation.  She pushes back from the table with far more force than is strictly necessary.

“You have not finished your lunch.”

She shoves her tray at him.  It collides with his and an explosion of fruit salad flies into his chest.  He jumps out of his chair and to her his shocked expression appears furious.  She pushes back in her chair but her up and out momentum causes her to knock backward out of the chair.  He reaches across the table and while she knows – she knows for absolute certain – he means to help her, the irrational part of her brain reacts with abject fear.  She cries out and scuttles backward and backward until she’s wedged into a corner and behind a table.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” and tears are coursing down her face and she’s absolutely mortified that she’s begging Teal’c for the same mercy he’s always shown her.  When she’s finally able to catch her breath she notices Teal’c crouched down several feet in front of her, his hands dangling with the palms facing toward her.  Bits of fruit cling to his t-shirt and flaked coconut perches comically on his shoulder.

“I am unharmed, Major Carter.  And you’ll find you are as well.”

She chances meeting his eye and is shocked to find a small twinkle of humor there.

“Though perhaps I should go change my shirt.”

“Teal’c, I—“

“Do not worry, Major Carter.  I now know not to comment on your eating habits.”

And for the first time in months her laugh is genuine.


	5. 131 Days Ago

**Part II: Sadness**

Jack and Teal'c haul Daniel through the gate by his forearms and as the scientist materializes on ramp in the gate room he is still screaming, "—an't just leave her here, Jack!"

He looks startled when the sounds of staff weapon fire are replaced by the echo of his voice in the cavernous concrete room.

General Hammond's voice booms over the loudspeaker, "SG-1, report!"

"The son-of-a-bitching-snake-bellied-mother-fucking-pai n-in-the-asses have her, General. Major Carter's been captured and compromised."

The iris slides closed behind the men.

"Briefing room now, Colonel. Your med-evals will have to wait."

In the briefing room Hammond allows the men a few moments to compose themselves. Jack paces in an uncomfortable arc around the table. Teal'c fidgets restlessly until George worries the man will break his own fingers. Daniel is a mass of sucking sobs that turn his face a deep magenta and his eyes a brilliant and watery pink.

"Pull it together, Daniel," Jack barks.

"I can't believe we just left her there. She's…god only knows what…Jesus, Jack!"

"Major Carter is a formidable warrior, Daniel Jackson. She will not share any of your secrets with Votan or his Jaffa."

Daniel stares at him aghast. "I can honestly say that was the last thing on my mind."

"Unfortunately, not on mine, Doctor Jackson," Hammond interjects. "Colonel O'Neill?"

"Well, it's not exactly the most pressing concern I have at the moment."

"Your report, Colonel," Hammond badgers gently. He knows where the priorities of Major Carter's team lay; he needn't the reminder from each corner. What he does need to know, however, is what happened between a fairly innocuous report from SG-1 thirty hours ago and only three quarters of his flagship team stepping through the gate.

"We don't have time for this, General. Every moment we waste here decreases the chances we'll be able to rescue her."

"Votan is more likely to keep her alive for the…entertainment value…she'll provide to his troops than he is to kill her, O'Neill."

The color drains from Jack's face.

"Are you saying—"

But Jack cuts the General off. "I told you she'd been compromised."

"I didn't know you meant…" and George finds himself unable to complete the sentence.

But Daniel continues the thought with reprobation, "that she'd been raped? Repeatedly? And that was just during the time we used to mount our rescue? That we have no idea how many times it's happened since we decided to leave her there?" Daniel flashes hot eyes at Jack.

"I'll remind you to watch your tone, Doctor Jackson. I'm not unsympathetic to the situation and you know me well enough to know that."

But Hammond may well have not even spoken because the end of his sentence is nearly obscured by O'Neill's incensed outburst, "You think I wanted to leave her there, Daniel?"

Daniel flies to his feet. "You're the one that ordered us out of there. You're the one whose name she was screaming for help. And you just walked away."

Jack's eyes go steely and lurches in Daniel's direction; his pointing finger stops inches from the younger man's nose. "You of all people should understand what that cost me." He makes a quick glance at Hammond as if he's said too much.

He has. But then again, it's not like he's providing any new information. George Hammond is neither blind nor stupid. What he is, though, is hopeful and he's always hoped things hadn't gone too far between O'Neill and Carter.

"Gentleman, the events of the last thirty hours, please."

Jack listens attentively as Daniel recounts the story of the festival to which the inhabitants of PX6-432, who refer to themselves as the Votani, had issued SG-1 an invitation. On the heels of a two-day recon mission that had been extended to a two week wait-out-the-weather trip, the festival had been both a welcome change of pace and an irritating delay in SG-1's return home.

But George had heard all of this. He already knew all about the invitation to the festival that, once begun, would ensnare his team for four days – it was that very invitation the Colonel had dialed in to inform him of just thirty hours ago. What he doesn't yet know is, "Doctor Jackson, what happened between the start of the festival and only three of you returning through the gate? Colonel, what happened to Major Carter?"

But it's Teal'c who answers the questions: "Votan arrived."


	6. Tertiary Emotion: Pity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the person who asked and didn't leave me a way to reply - we are, perhaps, about 20% of the way through this story.
> 
> Many thanks to those that are reading; I hope you continue to be compelled to click on the next chapters. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - if I haven't responded directly please know I've read and savored your kind words.

Sam stares out into the dark night sky from the observation deck. Surrounded by telescopes she feels as close to at home as she is likely to get before Janet releases her from base. The quiet whir of the internal motors of the 'scopes soothe her. Though they are run by computers inside – by the  _real_ deep space telemetry folks – it feels like she is a part of something normal. Even though she can't see the screens showing the near and far reaches of space they are picking up, even though it feels like she really is just an observer of life these days, it is a comforting place for her to be. Though she does know one of those telescopes is trained on the part of the galaxy in which she'd been held prisoner for seventeen weeks.

Out in the fresh air she feels alive. After all those weeks under ground she figures it isn't any wonder. Also, this is apparently the one place on base she can truly be alone. She's no fool. She knows she's on camera. She knows Daniel, Teal'c or the Colonel one are hanging out in the control room surreptitiously watching her. But still, this is a private enough place. And she can have her own private thoughts.

Even if these days she's mostly just feeling sorry for herself.

A bolt of lightening flashes across the sky – close enough the hairs on her arms stand on end. She revels in the crackle that breathes life into the uncharacteristically breezeless air. A shadow falls across the deck and she knows tonight's observer – the Colonel – has stepped up close to the window. In her mind's eye she can see him; a pensive look will be on his face while his fingers are pressed against the glass.

She knows he wants to help. But she can't take the look of pity in his eyes. Not tonight.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"This is just about getting through the day, right?" she asks Natalie. Sam was surprised to find the woman in her office at 9:30 on a Tuesday night. Surprised, but a little glad.

"Right now, yes."

"So how do I get them to stop looking at me like I'm broken?"

"Who?"

Sam gestures helplessly towards the hallway. "…Them." She wishes she could articulate exactly whom but she feels like it would be too revealing. "All of them."

"Everyone on base? Everyone on base is looking at you like you're broken?"

Sam knows she can't say yes. She's not so narcissistic that even she believes everyone on base is tuned into her or her recent exploits. She figures a little truth might make this all easier. "My team."

Natalie doesn't answer right away so Sam tries for a little more truth. "Daniel. Colonel O'Neill."

"Not Teal'c?"

"No," Sam answers simply.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Sam's momentarily taken aback. She came with the questions tonight and so far she hasn't gotten any answers. "Um…okay."

"Why do you call Colonel O'Neill 'Colonel O'Neill'?"

Sam must be looking at Natalie like she's stupid because the doctor follows up with: "I just mean that I've worked with members of the military for a while now, and on this base specifically for a couple of weeks. I've noticed that most all the team members refer to each other by their first names. But Colonel O'Neill calls you 'Carter' and you call him 'Colonel O'Neill'. Why is that?

Sam sighs. "I don't really know."

"Do you ever call him Jack?"

Sam just shakes her head. When Natalie fails to continue Sam volunteers, "He used to call me Sam."

"Did something happen? Are you not as close as you used to be?"

"No," Sam says uncomfortably. "We're closer than we used to be."

"Does that make you uncomfortable? Is  _he_  making you uncomfortable?"

Sam doesn't answer, but she does sit down on Natalie's couch.

"Sam?"

"Right now he's making me uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"Because…"

"Why?" Natalie presses.

"Because…"

"Because your relationship isn't purely professional?"

"No!" Sam exclaims appalled.

"No, your relationship  _is_  purely professional or…"

"Yes, our relationship is purely profession and no, that's not why I'm uncomfortable."

"So, you're not friends?"

"Well…yes, I suppose we're friends. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"It's not like we hang out together or anything."

"Why not?"

"He's my superior officer."

"I understand a lot of teams spend social time together."

Sam shrugs and Natalie nods. "So, why is he making you uncomfortable? You know, right now."

"Because…" this time Natalie lets Sam fill the space with her thoughts and, eventually, Sam continues, "because he keeps looking at me like I'm about to fall apart."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you about to fall apart?"

Sam flops her head against the back of the couch and watches the ceiling lose focus through tears. "I don't know."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I just feel so bad for her," Daniel says morosely into his coffee.

Jack shovels a massive spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "She doesn't need your pity, Daniel."

"Then she doesn't need yours, Jack."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's how you look at her. Like she's…"

"Like she's what?"

"Damaged."

"Well, she was."

"And now she'll get better."

"Not by herself, she won't," Jack mutters.

"She's got excellent medical care. Janet and Doctor Jordan seem to be doing a fine job."

"Yeah," Jack says noncommittally. It's not like he thinks the doctors are doing a  _bad_  job. He just can't help but replay Doc Jordan's words every time he's in a room with Carter:  _She's going to need you to be a friend long before she's going to need you to be her commanding officer._

The trouble is, he's not sure how to just be Carter's friend. Especially not after what happened at the festival on '432.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She's just about had it. She's not allowed to workout properly so she settles for the one exercise Janet's cleared her for – she heads to the pool. She might be most of the way put back together thanks to the use of a healing device and father, but about sixty laps in she's tired and she hurts. She stops at the end of the pool and folds her arms over the edge so she can catch her breath. It's then she notices Teal'c sitting on a bench a few yards away.

"I thought the Colonel was on Carter-duty tonight," she spits.

"I do not know what you mean, Major Carter."

"My baby sitter. Someone to make sure I don't throw in the towel and make a break for it."

"Why would you throw your towel, Major Carter?"

Sam just sighs. "Why are you here, Teal'c?"

"I thought perhaps you might like some company. I am feeling a bit unsettled myself."

This surprises her. "You are? Why?"

"I owe you an apology, Major Carter."

"What?"

Teal'c stands and crosses to the pool until he's towering above her. She can't help the flinch and he notices. "That is why." He crouches down in front of her and suddenly he doesn't seem quite so imposing. "I have made you frightened of me."

Guilt floods her. "No, Teal'c. You didn't."

"But you see, I did. I, too, left you in that place. And for that I will always be sorry."

Sam's not sure what to say. "Do you think I'm damaged, Teal'c?"

"I think you were injured gravely, Major Carter."

She nods. "Do you think I'll ever get better?"

"I think you become stronger each day."

"I'm not so sure."

"Then let me shoulder the burden of having confidence enough for the both of us." He reaches out a hand to her and helps her out of the pool.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack doesn't quite know what to do when he's cornered in the locker room by a clueless Carter. She's clearly just out of the pool and thinks she's alone. Typically she would be at, he checks his watch, 11:30 on a Tuesday night.

He clears his throat when she hasn't noticed his presence after thirty seconds or so.

She whirls around and he tries not to notice how frightened she is. "Easy, Carter. Just me."

Her eyes remain wild for the span of several heartbeats. Finally, recognition seems to dawn. "Oh. Sorry, sir."

"It's fine, Carter." He holds up his hand and the binder he's grasping, "just grabbing my notebook."

Suddenly she must realize she's only half-clothed with sweatpants pulled over a wet one-piece bathing suit and she gathers a towel in front of her chest.

Sadness must flash in his eyes – and he is sad because Carter's never exactly been overly modest and he's not sure if it's because of what she's been through or because of that under-pressure/under-duress kiss they shared at the festival – because suddenly there is fire in hers.

"Stop," she hisses. "Just stop it."

He's shocked by her outburst. "What?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" He probably sounds like an idiot, but he's flummoxed.

"Like I'm…"

_Half-naked,_ the infuriating part of his brain supplies. But he's pretty sure he wasn't looking at her lecherously.

"Like you're what, Carter?"

"Like you…"

He takes a step toward her but stops when she takes a giant step back. He raises his hands in supplication. "Like I  _what?"_

_"_ Just don't look at me."

"Carter—"

"Don't see me like that. Don't see me like that anymore."

"Like what? Like you were when we found you?" He takes a deep breath and spits out his thoughts before he can sensor them and possibly make this worse than it already is. "Because that was the single most reassuring sight of my life. Carter, I thought we were going to collect a body and there you were. Alive. I'm never going to apologize for seeing you alive."

"You're still looking at me like I'm…"

"Alive?"

"No!" She breathes heavily for a moment. "No."

"Then how do I look at you?"

"Like there's something wrong with me."

"Carter—" he hedges and grasps the back of his neck. He looks down at the floor and when he looks back up, there's a hint of smile around her eyes.

"Okay, so maybe there's still something wrong with me."

"I'm not looking at you any differently."

"You are," she asserts.

"You know what I see when I look at you?"

"You see  _her_."

And he just knows she's talking about the woman he pulled out of shackles in a goa'uld prison. "Yeah, I see her a little. Because she's  _you_. For better or for worse, Carter, that's part of your story now."

"Well, would just stop looking at me like you feel sorry for me?"

He just shakes his head. "No can do."

Apparently she didn't expect him not to acquiesce because she just gapes.

"I am sorry for the fact that now you know what all that is actually like. I'd have traded places with you without hesitation."

He can see she knows that's true.

"But I don't pity you, Carter."

"It's the same thing."

"It's not. No one could ever pity someone as strong as you. You survived."

"I'm not sure about that yet."

"I am."


	7. Secondary Emotion: Sympathy

“Is it possible to feel sympathy for yourself?  Or, is it only pity?”  Sam asks Natalie a few days later.

“Well, by its very definition sympathy is an emotion you feel for others.”

“Because I think I feel sympathy.”

“For yourself?”

“For _her_.  The me I was on that planet.”

“Okay.”

“Is that possible?”

“I think anything’s possible.  Especially if you’re disassociating yourself from the person to whom those things happened on the planet.”

“The colonel said I am her.  That for better or worse, that’s part of my story now.”

“Do you agree?”

“I don’t know.  I think it would be easier to put all of that in a box, you know?”

“You’ll have to deal with it eventually.”

“And before I can go back to work.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”Sam fiddles with a string on the couch.  “How can I be so mad at them and feel sorry for them too?”

“Do you think the sympathy you’re feeling might actually be directed at your team?”

“In part, at least.”

“Why?”

“They don’t seem to be handling all this very well.”

“They all have their own emotions surrounding your capture and captivity.  It’s only natural.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t believe that?”

Sam struggles to find an appropriate answer.  She’s sure they’re feeling some emotions, she’s just not sure it has anything to do with her.  And then she feels bad because it’s certainly not all about her.  “It’s not all about me, is it?”

“What they’re feeling?”

Sam nods.

“No.  I don’t imagine it is.”

“Aren’t you seeing them too?”

“Yes.”

“So don’t you _know_ whether or not it’s all about me?”Natalie doesn’t answer so Sam looks up at her.  “Oh.  Right.  You can’t tell me about their sessions.”

“What’s the difference between pity and sympathy,” Sam asks after a few moments of contemplative silence.

“Sometimes, Sam, things just come down to connotation.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack very nearly turns and leaves when he encounters Sam in the gym.  Her back is to him, though, so he takes a moment to look her over.  She’s still frighteningly thin.  He can see her shoulder blades and the vertebrae between them.  When she shakes her hands down by her hips he notices how delicate her wrists are – is momentarily taken aback by the marks she retains from her captivity ringed around them.  She’s walking at a pretty good clip on a treadmill.  She hates treadmills almost as much as she hates walking, but the report sitting on his desk says she’s only been cleared for swimming and walking.  And the walking is new today.  Apparently she’s had enough of the pool.

She still hasn’t noticed his presence and, as he advances on her, he notices her eyes are squeezed tightly shut and she’s got tiny earphones stuck in her ears.  He draws closer still and suddenly realizes he can hear the music.  It’s slow but it has a driving beat and he sees she’s walking in time to the music.

She’s nearly vibrating with the effort it’s taking to keep from turning up the treadmill and breaking into a run.  He’d recognize that tension anywhere considering he’s humming with it himself.  As a matter of fact he’d come to this very place this very evening to punish his knees in ways Janet would berate him for endlessly. 

She’s still focused inwardly and he struggles with his desperate desire to flee and avoid her.  His other choice – the less attractive one in many ways and yet far more enticing in others – is to climb aboard a machine near her and revel in her nearness for at least a little while.

Though he was fairly certain he’d been clear when he told her the feelings he had weren’t pity he’s also fairly certain she’s been avoiding him as she doesn’t really believe him.  He’d meant what he said when he told her she was strong.  She was so strong when she was trapped on that planet.  He knows because she was alive when he got to her.

Suddenly he can recognize the song playing.  Huh.  He’d have never really pegged her as a Pink Floyd fan.  But, he supposes, Wish You Were Here is probably a fitting song for her at the moment.  And then he starts to worry about her ears if he can clearly hear her music over both the treadmill and her footfalls.

So he joins her, unseen, and runs along as a remnant from his heydays sings about lost souls.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Teal’c does not spend a lot of time thinking about what Major Carter must have been subjected to as a prisoner of Votan and his Jaffa.  He knows precisely what she was made to do.  Knows intimately how she was treated.  He knows the tools used to break her.  He’s used them himself.

He does not know why she seems comfortable in his presence.  Knows not why she’s startled away from him fewer times than she’s sought him out. 

He thanks whatever powers might be part of the Universe that she finds some small comfort in his presence, though.  But it hurts the soft inner part of him when she sits quietly on a pillow on his floor in meditation with tears streaming down her face.  He is unsure how to be helpful.  Is afraid of touching her when her eyes are closed.  Is afraid, if he’s honest, of touching her when her eyes are open.

 He thinks she looks beautiful, if broken, in the candlelight.  He has never before truly appreciated the beauty in survival.  But he wonders sometimes how much of Major Carter actually survived her time on that planet.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I feel like a virgin.”

Natalie is momentarily taken aback by Sam’s blunt and incongruous statement.

“In what way?”

“I know how things are supposed to feel; I just don’t know where all the parts go.”

“Knowing how things are supposed to feel is at least half the battle, isn’t it?”

Sam shrugs.

“Besides me, who are you talking to?”

“There’s not anyone I’m _not_ talking to.”

“No, I mean about how you’re feeling and what you went through.”

“I can’t talk about that with anyone.”

“You talk about it with me.”

“Not really.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She spends another evening half alone on the observation deck.  The weather’s turning cooler and she revels in the slight nip in the air as the sun sinks down past the horizon somewhere off her right shoulder.  The trees in her immediate field of vision are an inky moss green superimposed over a grey blue dusky sky and she’s suddenly struck by how much those colors look like she feels.

The bruises are mostly gone.  It’s been, after all, five weeks since her rescue and time and a half a dozen treatments with the healing device will do that.  Her muscle tone is slowly returning.  But her bones still ache.  Her joints feel like they fit together strangely.  Her skin still feels like something that’s not quite her own.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I don’t know why I’m still coming here.”

“Do you think you were unaffected by Major Carter’s abduction?”

“Of course not.”

“So you agree that there might be some fall out on your part.”

Colonel O’Neill fidgets nervously in a chair.

“Okay, fine.  Can you tell me about the events leading up to Major Carter’s capture?”  She watches as his eyes slam closed.  “You don’t have to relive it, Colonel.  Just tell me what you’re seeing.”

His face contorts in pain.  But he doesn’t speak.

“Colonel?  Open your eyes, please.”

It takes many moments but he does.

“Can you tell me what you were seeing?”

“He pulled her out of my arms.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack hands Daniel a beer and then sinks wearily onto the couch next to him. 

“It doesn’t feel right without her here.”

“It’ll be a while before she’s allowed off base, Daniel.”

“Why?  Physically she’s capable of caring for herself.”

“Yeah.  Well, her head’s still not straight.”

Daniel makes a noncommittal noise and Jack echoes it.

“I’m not sure I’m ever going to forgive myself, Jack.  How do you do it?  How do you look at her and not feel like you have to spend the rest of forever apologizing?”

“Who says I don’t?”

“She hates it when I apologize to her.”

“Probably because you haven’t had a single real conversation with her since she’s been back.”

“I feel guilty.  I’m atoning.”

“It’s not about you.  It’s about her.  And she doesn’t need to be reminded what she went through every time she sees one of us.”

“You think we have to talk to make her remember, Jack?  I’m pretty sure our faces are enough.”

Jack takes a long pull off his beer.

Daniel continues, “I know I’ll never forget the look on her face when we left her.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Your back looks good, Sam.”

“Good.”

“So do your wrists.”

“Yeah.”

“Your dad offered to come back if you’re having any pain we haven’t yet addressed.”

“No.”

“No pain, or no dad?”

“Both.”

Janet pulls a stool up next to the bed Sam’s sitting on.  “I wish I knew what I could say to help.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you to say.”

“How’s Doctor Jordan working out?”

“She’s fine.”

“No, really, Sam.”

Sam hazards a smile.  “Really, Jan.  She’s okay.  I like her.  She’s better than Mackenzie.”

“I’m not sure that’s really saying much.”

“She’s helping.”

“She can only help as much as you let her.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you get out of therapy exactly what you put into it.  You want to get better, you have to level with her.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Janet tries to think of an appropriate retort but settles for a no nonsense look that gets precisely the reaction she was looking for.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She submits to dinner with her team.  She still doesn’t like eating in front of other people.  She’s aware she’s not eating enough to suit much of anybody. But if she doesn’t spend at least a short amount of time with them every other day or so they each seek her out and force her into conversations she’d prefer not having.  So, she consents to a meal and talk of things of little consequence.

It’s not necessarily an easier thing to do, but it’s proportionally easier than dealing with the conversations they’d rather be having.  Besides, she’s tired of telling Daniel not to apologize; tired of telling the colonel lies; tired of falling apart in front of Teal’c.

She doesn’t want to chase them away.  Not really.  But she does want them to go away of their own volition.  But they all look so sad all the time.  And Daniel and the colonel look a little lost.

So, she submits to dinner with the team.  It’s not easy.  But it’s enough to get them through the next stretch and on to the next thing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Natalie’s notes are spread out across the coffee table as she makes notes into a handheld voice recorder.  Erin is cooking something that smells like it might be a poor substitute for the dinner Natalie keeps missing.

“Major Carter continues to bury her true emotional reactions under case-typical reiterations of what she thinks she’s supposed to be saying.  We spend most of our sessions talking around problems.  She doesn’t trust me yet.  But she doesn’t trust anyone else either.”

“You want my opinion?”

Natalie pushes the pause button on her recorder and looks up to see Erin leaning against the living room doorway.  “Always.”

“You should take a break.  Eat something that doesn’t come off a cafeteria tray or out of a vending machine.”

Natalie sinks back into the couch with a smile.  “That’s good advice.”

“I’ve got more.”  Erin’s mouth turns up into a smirk and she advances to stand in front of Natalie.

“Shoot.”

“If what you’re doing isn’t working, try something new.”

“The vending machine food isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm behind on review replies but I wanted to thank the readers for your insightful thoughts about the story and what the characters are going through. This story is about Sam but it's also quite a bit about all of them. When bad things happen to our loved ones we're often touched in ways we could have never anticipated. Sometimes the things we say or do don't make much sense. But there's validity in emotion. There is truth in what we feel. I hope, in small part, to give voice to many of the angles of their situation.


	8. Tertiary Emotion: Isolation

“How can I even possibly want to be alone?” Sam asks Natalie more than twenty minutes into their regularly scheduled session.

Natalie’s been trained to go with the flow, but considering they’d just been talking about dealing with the frustrations of physical limitations it takes her a moment to catch the Major’s train of thought.  “You mean because you spent so much time alone while you were held captive?”

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  I just feel like I shouldn’t want to spend all this time alone.  But I also feel like I’m going to climb the walls when anyone else is around.  And then, sometimes, I want someone around, I just don’t want him to talk.  You know?”

“Him who, Sam?”

“What?”

“You said you don’t want  _him_  to talk.  Who is  _him_?”

Sam sputters for a moment and Natalie has to hide a smile.  She’s discovered Colonel O’Neill and Sam both have a tendency to talk about one another in the abstract.  She’s also discovered she was  _very_  far off base when she accused them of being friends.  And that Sam lied outright when she told Natalie that the relationship between Sam and her boss was strictly professional.  She doesn’t know the extent to which their relationship was  _un_ professional, but she harbored no doubts that it was, in fact, at least a  _little_  unprofessional.

“Sam?”

“I meant  _him_  in the abstract.  All my teammates are men.  And they’re all always around.  And talking.”

“Even Teal’c?”

“These days?  Yes.”

“You know, I’m not going to let you get away with that for much longer.”

“What?” Sam asks suspiciously.

“Lying to me when you’re talking about Colonel O’Neill.”

Sam sighs.  “It’s…I’m not sure I can really explain this to you, but it’s complicated.”

“I’m certain it is.  These things always are.”

“What things?”

“Relationships.”

“We are most certainly  _not_  in a relationship,” Sam asserts.

And Natalie believes her.  Beneath the outrage there is pain, confusion, and if she dares to find it, hope.

“Sam, there are many types of relationships.  I’d assert you have at least some kind of relationship with Colonel O’Neill.”

“Yes,” Sam concedes.  “A professional one.”

“I get the impression he’s not the sort of man that usually feels the need to fill silence.”

Sam chuckles.  “Believe it or not, you’re wrong.  He frequently speaks just to hear himself talk.  He’s always cracking jokes.  Waxing irreverent.”

“Do you suppose he does that for any particular reason?”

“He likes to make us laugh.”

“And when silence is necessary?”

“I’ve seen him sit quietly for hours if we’re in danger of being detected.”

“So he’s a man who talks with purpose?”

“Well, I guess so.”

“And when he’s around you these days, he just won’t shut up?”

Sam grins a little.  “Yeah.”

“What does he talk about?”

“Mostly…”

“Sam?”

“Mostly, I think he’s just trying to fix me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam spends more time holed up in her quarters on base than she’d strictly like to.  But her lab is off limits to her until she’s cleared for duty.  Janet still hasn’t cleared her to leave the base and she’s been back for six weeks.  She’s mostly healed thanks to her father’s use of the healing device.  But, she still doesn’t eat well.  Or sleep well.  And she has a tendency to blank out and wander off.  Even she agrees that Janet’s probably right to keep her inside the mountain.  Doesn’t mean she has to like it.

But she’s never really alone unless she’s in her quarters.  She still escapes to the observation deck as often as possible; one of her body guards is always present, though.  Teal’c sits with her while she swims. And honestly, for that she’s grateful after one particularly nasty run in with the wall of pool when she failed to execute a turn for being too distracted.Daniel talks incessantly and apologizes nearly every time he sees her.  And the colonel has a strange fascination with wanting her to get a dog.

But in her quarters, she’s blissfully alone.  They’ll leave her alone for up to eight hours at a time when they assume she’s sleeping.  But she never sleeps that long.  Every sound jars her awake.  Every random itch jerks her into a state of frightened consciousness.  The dreams, though, they are what truly terrify her and make her afraid to go to sleep in the first place.  So no, she doesn’t really sleep anymore. 

She lies to Janet about how much sleep she’s actually getting.  Because while Sam knows, intellectually anyway, that she’s perfectly safe in Cheyenne Mountain, the thought of being in a chemically induced sleep from which she can’t awaken absolutely terrifies her.  She’s gotten good with makeup.  And her body has become pretty conditioned to sleeping in short bursts.

Sometimes she lets herself think about going through the gate and she just can’t imagine a future where that will again be possible.  And that makes her lose sleep too.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s been more than three months since Jack decided he was better off by himself.  He was a wreck when Sam was gone and it seemed as if everyone pointed it out every chance they got.  After the third rescue attempt failed even General Hammond agreed Jack was more likely to be a liability than an asset and benched him for future attempts.

And until Sam was rescued he spent a great deal of time sitting on his couch nursing a beer.  Or, if he’s honest, usually he nursed something much stronger.  Even Daniel and Teal’c had learned better than to try to spend time around him. 

And then, well, then they brought her home.  All of them together – though he’s still not sure exactly how he got put on that particular mission list after some of the spectacular fuck-ups he had to claim on those first rescue missions.  And since then he’s only been off base long enough to continue to collect her mail and tend her lawn.

He knows he’s been better since she’d come home.  Even he realizes the personnel on base seem more at ease around him than they had in months.  And yet, he still feels a strong desire to be alone.  If he can’t be with her, that is.  And he’s with her as much as he can explain away.  Though he’s pretty sure he’s not fooling a single damn soul anymore. 

He doesn’t want to anyway.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Daniel’s shocked when Sam unleashes on him.  All he did was apologize – and this time not even for leaving her on the planet (he learned his lesson after she nearly physically assaulted him the last time he’d ventured that particular apology).  But apparently he’s no longer allowed to apologize to her for anything at all – including spilling coffee on her.

“Damn it, Daniel!  Could you just…not?!?  You’re sorry, I get it.  What do you want from me?  Forgiveness?”

“Well,” he flounders, “right now I just want to know if you need to go to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine,” she spits.

“But yeah,” he continues boldly, “forgiveness would be nice.”

“You spilled coffee on me.  It’s fine.  I’ll be fine,” she says with disdain incongruous with her words.

“For the other thing.”

She looks at him nonplussed.

“I want you to forgive me for the other thing.”

“You want me to forgive you for the other thing?  The other thing being leaving me on a planet as a captive of a Goa’uld?  The other thing being leaving me to be beaten to within an inch of both my life and sanity?  The  _other thing_ being leaving me in a place where life as I know it is over?”

He gapes at her.   _Well,_  he thinks,  _yes_.  But he doesn’t dare say it.  But apparently his eyes just don’t know how to shut the hell up.

“Fuck off, Daniel.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“He’s got to leave me alone.”

Natalie looks up as Sam bursts into her office.

“Colonel O’Neill?”

Sam shakes her head vehemently.  “No.  Daniel.  If he apologizes to me one more time, I think I might actually kill him.  It’s not a euphemism.  I’m picturing doing real mortal harm.”

Natalie looks Sam over and sees an angry red welt on her forearm.  “Sam, you okay?”

“I’m fine.  My blood pressure’s a little high and I’m concerned I’m just millimeters away from losing it, but yeah.  I’m fine.”

“You appear to have burned yourself.”  Natalie gestures at the Major’s arm.

“Sonuvabitch.”  Sam acknowledges the burn for the first time apparently.  She grips the unmarked skin just below the burn.  “Ouch.”

“I think you should go see Doctor Fraiser.”

Sam nods.

“What happened?”

“Daniel spilled his coffee on me.”

“And then he apologized?”

Sam flushes and then nods.

“And you took his head off?”

Sam nods again – sheepishly.

“Okay.  I’ll walk you to the infirmary.  But I think it’s time you had some real time to yourself.  What do you think, Sam?  Ready to go home?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam’s shocked to walk into her house and find it absolutely free of dust.  To find her mail stacked neatly on the kitchen counter separated into bills, correspondence, and junk mail.  She notices all the bills are open and having payment dates handwritten on them.  In the colonel’s handwriting.  Well.

She looks back out the window, and no her memory isn’t playing tricks on her – the grass is mowed.  The bushes are pruned.  There are no newspapers piled up on her porch.

She opens her fridge hopefully but it’s empty.  Damn.  Her freezer turns up more of the same.  She hadn’t really thought this through.  Oh, she’s thrilled that Natalie secured her freedom.  Well, her sort-of-freedom.  She listens as the front door opens.   _Here comes the caveat_ , she thinks.

“C’mon in, Teal’c.”

“I appreciate the opportunity to leave the SGC, Major Carter.”

“You and me both, Teal’c.”

“It appears they trust neither of us to be alone,” he says with the hint of a smile he appears to reserve for her.

“Joke’s on them, letting us out alone together then, isn’t it?”

“How can we be alone if we are together?”

“How indeed?”Sure, she’s grateful to be off base.  And sure, she’s grateful to be home.  But all she really wants is to be alone.  Truthfully, Teal’c was probably the best option if someone had to come with her.  At least he gives her some space.  At least he has perfected the art of silence.  And, of all of them, he is, surprisingly, the one she felt the least anger towards.

She can’t even begin to explain how it is the Jaffa of the group that keeps her most at east but, alas, it is true.  Perhaps because, even though he’s as much a part of her team as Jack and Daniel, he just doesn’t fill a space like they do.  He can blend in with the background.  When he’s around, sometimes she can still pretend like she’s alone.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam comes awake gasping violently.  Damn it.  She hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all.  The television’s on but the sounds been all but muted.  A light throw blanket that is usually folded over the back of the couch is now spread over her and damp with sweat.  A low light burns from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen or dining room.  And the smell of Teal’c’s candles wafts gently down the hall.

“Teal’c?”  She tries but the name sticks in her throat.  She clears her throat and tries again.  “Teal’c?”

He appears like an apparition.  “Do you require assistance, Major Carter?”

“How long have I been asleep?”  She flounders for a question since she’s not quite sure why she called him.

His eyes flicker towards the VCR.  “Approximately three hours.”

“Approximately three hours,” she mutters.

He must take that as a rebuke for his inaccuracy because he answers back.  “Two hours and fifty three minutes.”

She shakes her head and waves him off.  “Which day is this?”

“The second day, Major Carter.”

She relaxes back into the couch.  She’s been home two days.  The day after tomorrow she’ll have to report back for a med eval.  But in the meantime she’s home free, so to speak.

“What time is it?” she asks from beneath the hand she’s splayed over her face.

“Two-thirty a.m.”

“I’m hungry.  You hungry?”

“I believe Pronto Pizza delivers at this time.”

“Great.  Perfect.” 

Teal’c turns towards her cordless phone.

“Hey, just no pineapple, okay?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack pulls up into Carter’s driveway and fiddles with the radio dials to kill time.  Bra’tac’s untimely arrival at the SGC means Teal’c’s no longer on Carter-duty.  And since they all decided it would probably be best if Daniel wasn’t left alone with Sam, and since Janet is dealing with a particularly nasty alien fungus that came home with SG-4, Jack was nominated to run interference.  At least this way Sam doesn't have to give up her hard won evening at home.

Teal’c emerges from the house and Jack gets out of the truck leaving it running for the big guy.

“O’Neill.”

“Hiya, Teal’c.”  Jack shuffles unsurely in the driveway.

“Major Carter is expecting you.”

“Yeah.”

“I shall return to relieve you as soon as I can.  However, if I have not returned, Major Carter’s doctor’s appointment is at nine o’clock.”

“Thanks, Teal’c.  I got it.”

“She is…”

And when Teal’c doesn’t finish his sentence Jack’s worried.  Teal’c’s a lot of things but pensive is never one of them.  “She’s what?”

“Major Carter does not rest with ease.”

Jack sighs and shoots his gaze towards where the sun in dipping past the horizon.  “I figured.”

“She dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“I believe she suffers from night terrors.”

“Yeah, well, who doesn’t?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The first few hours are tense and uncomfortable.  She wanders around and seems to avoid him at all costs.  And then, they encounter each other in the hallway as he is leaving the bathroom and she her bedroom.

They stare at each other for a full minute.  He watches as she regains control of her breathing.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She shrugs.  “Most things do these days, sir.”

“We haven’t really talked since you’ve been back.”

She sighs heavily.  “Sir, it seems like all I’ve done since I got back was talk.”

“I…” he huffs, grasps at the back of his neck and makes a thorough study of the grain on her hardwood floor.  “Aw, fuck, Sam.”  He meets her eyes guiltily then leans heavily against the wall.  “Look, it might piss you off, but I’ve gotta tell you I’m sorry.”

She deflates.  “Me too.”

“What?  Why?”

She just shakes her head.  Then she bites her lip and it undoes him.

“God, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It all happened because we…”

“No, it didn’t.  It would have happened anyway.  And we didn’t…you know… just because we…”

“What?”

He can’t answer.  Apparently she can’t either.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you,” he finally supplies when it seems like there’s no safe avenue of conversation on the previous topic.

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry you were alone.”

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry those things happened to you,” and he’s startled to find she’s gone blurry through tears.

And when she say, “me too,” he can hear thick tears in her voice.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me.”

And he waits, but she doesn’t say it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I was completely alone there.  There weren’t any other prisoners,” Sam volunteers forty minutes into an intense session.

Natalie nods and waits for Sam to continue.

“The colonel told me he’s sorry he wasn’t the one who was taken.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sorry it wasn’t him?”

“No,” Sam breathes as if horrified by the very thought.

“Why not?”

“He’s…look, I’m not supposed to know this, and I really shouldn’t be telling you, but…the things that were done to me…”

“Were done to him, too, when he was in the Iraqi prison.”

Sam’s eyes snap up to meet Natalie’s.  “You know?”

“I do.”  Natalie buys a moment by taking a sip of her coffee.  “So, he’s been through what you’ve been through.  He knows how hard it is, how awful, and he still tells you he’d have preferred it was him.”

“Yeah.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Like he’s a fool.”

Moments stretch out into long breaths before Sam continues.  “It makes me feel like maybe I’m not so alone.”


	9. Secondary Emotion: Neglect

“It’s my fault, you know.”  Colonel O’Neill fiddles with a decorative rock that usually sits on Natalie’s side table.  “I mean, they tell you, when some missions go fubar that it’s not anyone’s fault.  Sometimes these things just happen.  But this one?  This one was my fault.”

“Why?”

“Because I know not to trust the festivals or the priests that run them.  Because I know nine times out of ten some sex crazed committee is going to want Carter for nefarious purposes.  Because I’m supposed to have a sixth sense about these situations.  And mostly because anything that starts with Daniel telling me I’d better kiss Carter and kiss her fast is just too damn good to be true.”

“Daniel told you to kiss Sam?”

“It’s these…see, Carter shows up on a planet, right?  And I’m telling you, dollars to donuts, if there’s a festival it’s going to be some sort of fertility rite and some priest is tying her up or stripping her down because strangers don’t just show up on these planets.  And, when they do, they don’t ever look like Carter, right?”

“Okay.”

“So a long time ago we just discovered it was easier to tell them she was hooked up with one of us guys.  Usually whichever one was standing closest to her at the moment.  But the Votani… this wasn’t just any festival.  And, as it turns out, it wasn’t a fertility thing.”

“But Daniel told you to kiss Sam?”

“It should have…Votan would have considered her unclean.  He wouldn’t have wanted her.  Not for himself or for his Jaffa.”

“But he took her anyway.”

“He did.”

“Why?”

“Because, as it happens, kissing her wasn’t enough.”

“And you didn’t know?”

“No, we didn’t know.  Daniel’s usually translating on the fly and there’s not any time for second guesses, you know?”

“And this time he translated wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what?”

“Then Votan’s first prime pulled her out of my arms.”

“She was literally taken _from you_.”

“Yeah.”

“And so you feel like it’s your fault.”

“It is.”

“An argument could be made that it’s Daniel’s fault.”

“Hey, lady,” he asserts, “you try decoding alien languages week after week and see how you do.”

Natalie raises her hands in supplication.  “I’m not saying _I_ blame Daniel.”

“Well, neither do I.”

“But you blame yourself?  Because they pulled her away from you?”

“Yes.”

“And you were supposed to…what?  Overpower a contingent of Jaffa warriors?”

“We’ve done it before.”

“So what was different about this time?”

“I don’t know, doc.”

Natalie’s pretty sure he knows precisely what was different about that time, but she decides, for the moment, this is enough.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam breathes in the stale air of her lab.  She’d forgotten how musty it could get with disuse.  She half expected to see a thin layer of dust covering everything considering how long it had been since she’d been inside, but she supposes the others had come in from time to time.  She notices things here and there but can’t tell if everything is precisely where she’d left it six months before.

Six months.  It seems like a lifetime ago.  Back when things made sense.  When she knew what she’d be doing from one day to the next – even if she wasn’t sure which world she might be doing it on.  Now she can’t say with any sort of certainty that she’ll even be waking up the next day.  It’s not that she’s suicidal, really.  She just can’t seem to trust in implied absolutes anymore.

For instance, she had always been completely, one hundred percent certain that her team would never leave her behind.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How’re you feeling today, Sam?”

“About like you’d suspect, I suppose.”

Natalie can’t help but smile.  Sam is very good at attempting to evade questions.  She would answer, but not really.  And Natalie congratulates herself on finally recognizing the signs in this particular patient.  Never mind it was the patient herself who’d admitted to being evasive in the first place.  Natalie will take whatever small victories she can.

“Why don’t you tell me anyway?  You’ve been off base for the last several days.  How was that?”

“It was fine.  Teal’c stayed with me.”

“And how was that?”

“Teal’c’s a great house guest.”

Natalie sighs, this is going to be like pulling teeth.  She can tell already.  Some days Sam is more receptive to the therapy.  Today is not one of those days.  “What was it like going home?”

“Fine,” Sam says slowly as if she can’t understand why Natalie is harping on such a non-issue.

“It was the first time you’d been home in about six months, right?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?  Sleep?  Clean your house?  Catch up on TV?”

“I…” Sam starts and then seems to reassess her tactics.  “No.  My house was clean when I got there.”

“It was?”  Now, that does surprise Natalie.  She expected dust.  Live organisms in the fridge.  A yard gone to weed and seed.  “Had someone kept it up for you?”

“Apparently so.”

“Anything else strange at home?”

“My bills were paid.”

“Yeah?  Can you sign me up for that?”

Sam cracks a smile.  “You can’t have one without the other, you know?”

Natalie sobers.  “Do you think good only comes with bad, Sam?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you got kidnapped and tortured but on the flip side you came home to a clean house and paid bills.  Is that the way it works?”

“Sometimes, apparently.”

“It’s nice when people do things for you, even when you don’t know those things are being done.  It makes you feel…”

Sam studies Natalie until it becomes apparent Natalie expects her to fill in the blank.  “I don’t know how that made me feel.”

“Well, it was nice of whoever did it.”

“I…” Sam trails off again.  She fidgets and fiddles.

“Sam?”

“I think it was the colonel.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So what?” Daniel asks around a mouthful of bagel.  “I’m not allowed to be alone with her anymore?”

“How good an idea do you think that would be?”

“Jeez, Jack, it’s not like I’m trying to make things harder on her.”

“I know.”

“I love her.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.  “Yeah?”

“Of course.”  He pauses.  Takes a slug of coffee.  “And I really am sorry.”

“Damn it, Daniel, we’re all sorry.  But you don’t see me and Teal’c following her around apologizing to her every time we open our mouths.”

“Well,” he responds hotly, “maybe you should.”

“You wanna rethink that?”

Daniel has the good graces to look contrite.  “We’re never going to be the same again, are we?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Jack replies on a shrug.

“Do you think she knows?”

Jack considers all Daniel’s thoughts and figures he doesn’t really need clarification.  “Yeah, Daniel.  She knows.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I’m beginning to wonder if I kept you here too long.”

“What?”  Sam doesn’t temper the confusion that laces her voice.

“I can’t help but think keeping you here so long is making it tougher for you to be home.”

“Being home was fine, Janet.”

“Teal’c said you don’t really sleep.”

“Not sleeping is a hard habit to break.”

“Did you…” Janet trails of with a worried look in her eyes.

And then Sam just knows.  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“But you know you can talk to me.  If you ever needed to talk about it.  Right?”

“Janet, I swear to anything out there that might be holy, I’m not really talking to anyone about it.”

“Doctor Jordan just wants to help you.”

“This isn’t something anyone can really help, you know?”

“Because we haven’t been there?”

“No!” Sam exclaims.  And then she thinks about it a little.  Is that what has been holding her back?  Does she think her friends can’t sympathize because they can’t empathize?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  She decides thee-quarters honesty will do for her best friend.  “Sometimes I just really want to not be left alone.”

Janet looks at her with confusion.  Sam figures that fits.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He really tried to keep from arranging it this way, but here he is again – home with Carter.  None of the docs want her on her own.  She doesn’t want anyone around but she can’t stand being alone.  He doesn’t really know how to help her.  Hell, he doesn’t even really know how to talk to her anymore.

He sits with her on the couch and they stare at a muted television show he knows he couldn’t answer a single question about.  He’s pretty sure she couldn’t either.

“Janet wants me to sleep more,” she finally volunteers after about forty-five minutes of dead silence.

He swallows deeply and wishes he had the right words.  But hell, it’s Sam.  She knows he’s never had the right words.  Somehow they’ll muddle through.  “She could give you something.”

Sam just shakes her head.

He understands.  “It can take a while.  You know, to…uh… trust enough.”

“There’s no one I trust more than you guys.  I couldn’t even sleep when Teal’c was here.  Not really.”

“No one you trust more than us?  Sam, that’s a sad state of affairs since you don’t even trust us much these days.”

She looks at him stricken.

“Not that we deserve a whole lot of trust,” he mutters.

“I don’t know how to not be hurt.  And I don’t know how to not hurt you guys about this.”

“We’re big boys, Carter.  We can handle it.”

“Yes, sir,” she says and ducks her head to hide a small smile. 

“It’s going to take a while,” he reiterates.  “But I can stay tonight.”

She nods.  “Okay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She wanders around her house in the near pitch black.  The moon is a little sliver in the sky and she hasn’t been able to find the nightlights the colonel apparently unplugged in her absence. 

He must be exhausted.  She’s paced past him several times and he hasn’t so much as flinched.  She half wants him awake with her and is half glad she’s alone.  Though at least he doesn’t mind the quiet.  She hasn’t felt much need to fill silence, so she’s glad. 

But after close to an hour of fighting back licks of terror she decides she doesn’t really want to be alone in her dark house.  She stops her circuit of the house in front of the couch.  Still he lays there – his breaths deep and even.  He doesn’t move.

So of course he scares the shit out of her when he says, “I’m not sure if I should be encouraged that you’ve stopped walking or if I should be concerned for my safety.”  He pops one eye open.  “You’re not armed are you, Carter?”

“No, sir.”

He must hear the tremor in her voice because he pushes himself into a sitting position.  She wants him to invite her to sit with him.  But she can’t ask and he can’t read minds and so there they are – staring at one another.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re safe here.”

“I know.”

“Do you?  Do you really?”

She shrugs.

He takes a deep breath.  “Sometimes it was noises.  Sometimes it was quiet.  Sometimes it was having people around and sometimes it was having no one around.  Sometimes I needed to have my sidearm right next to me and sometimes that was a very bad idea.”

She considers him carefully and decides he’s sharing something important with her.  So she sits down in the armchair off to one side of the couch he’d been sleeping on.

“I had Sara, you know?  There was someone there who wanted me to be okay.  And sometimes that was the absolute wrong thing.  But Sam, it’s what ultimately saved me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You’ve spent the better part of your life alone.  You spent a good part of the time you weren’t alone with people who weren’t giving you what you needed.”  He shrugs.  “After that sometimes it’s hard to accept that there’s something other than neglect out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to be okay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Tell me something about your time in the cell, Sam,” Natalie presses.  It’s been nine weeks since Sam’s return and Natalie still only knows the bare bones that were part of the medical and field reports.

“I was always alone.  Until I wasn’t.”

Natalie waits for Sam to volunteer more information but she doesn’t.   “What was it like when you were alone?”

“Painful.”

“And when you weren’t?”

“More painful.”

Yeah.  Natalie bites her lip.  “What’s it like when you’re alone now?”

“I’m never really alone, am I?”

“Fair enough.  And how is it when you’re not alone?”

“I’m always alone, Natalie.”


	10. Tertiary Emotion: Shame

“I can’t seem to shower often enough to not feel…”

“Feel what, Sam?”

“Used up.  Maybe.  Dirty?  That sounds so cliché.”

“There is a reason things become cliché.”

“Does that mean you think I am?”

“Dirty?”

Sam just nods.

“No.  I don’t think that.”

“Do you think other people think that?”

“Which other people?”

“Any of the other people.  People on base.”

“I think anyone who matters doesn’t think you’re dirty.”

“I should have fought harder.”

“You didn’t fight the Jaffa?”

“I did.  At first.  When I could.”

“So there came a point in time when you couldn’t fight anymore?  Physically?”

“I was strung up.  From shackles.  You know, around my wrists?  They hung me there.  After a while my arms and shoulders hurt pretty badly.”

“And it would get hard to breathe,” Natalie supplies.

“Yeah.  After a while.”

“How long?”

“It would take a while.  My toes could touch the floor.”

Natalie tries to suppress a gasp.  It’s one thing to know a person sitting in front of you was tortured.  It’s quite another to have a very clear picture painted. 

“Sam, you fought while you could, right?”

Sam seems to consider the question for an inordinate amount of time and finally settles on, “Yes.”

“And what would have happened if you’d fought harder?  Longer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

“Natalie—“

“No, Sam.  I want you to say it out loud.  What would have happened if you’d fought that Jaffa longer than you did?”

“I think he’d have killed me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack finds himself sitting on the dewy ground in Carter’s back yard during another ill-advised Carter-sitting session.  Unfortunately, on this night she seems compelled to talk and so far she’s said a lot of things that make him damned uncomfortable.

“It’s my fault, a lot of it,” she finally says in a way that makes his heart break just a little.

“No, Carter.  None of it was your fault.”

“I mean what happened to me while I was in the cell.”

“Me too.”

“Sir, please.”

“Please nothing, Carter.  It. Wasn’t. Your.  Fault.  Period.  Not a single bit of it.”

“What do you think would have happened to me if I’d have fought harder?  Do you still think he’d have—“

“Raped you?” Jack grinds out.  All these weeks he’s resisted saying that word but she’s come to bandying it about in a way that makes him so uncomfortable his only choice is to throw it back at her.  “You think he’d have _not_ raped you if you’d have fought him harder?  Jesus Christ, Carter.”

“I don’t know.  Maybe it would have happened fewer times.”

“And maybe you’d be dead.”

“Better dead than this.”

He sucks in a breath.  “Please don’t say things like that,” he says on a shaky exhale.

“Even if it’s true?  I’ve never known you to shy away from truth, sir.”

“There’s nothing true about you being better off dead.”

She starts to open her mouth to speak but he’s so angry he can’t listen to whatever she’s about to say so he gets up and storms into her house making sure to slam the door behind him.

A couple hours later he’s pretending to be asleep on the couch when she comes in.  She stops in the living room and he can feel her penetrating gaze.

“I’m better off dead than being a woman nobody can ever touch.”

And finally he gets it.  He waits until she’s about to cross the threshold between the living room and the hallway.  “You’re not dirty, Sam.  And there’s nothing anybody could ever do to you to make you undesirable.”

Her breath catches audibly and he suddenly wonders if he’s gone too far.  But damn it, some things just need to be said.  He can practically feel her weighing the ramifications of her responses and doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when her only answer is, “Thank you, sir.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Daniel.”

Daniel looks up from the photographs of ancient text SG-4 brought back from their last mission and is shocked to see Sam fidgeting in his doorway.  “Sam.”

“Can I…” she gestures helplessly into his office.

He sits back in his chair and wonders if Jack is going to kick his ass if he admits her without a chaperone.  “Does anyone know you’re here?”

She tilts her head with curiosity.  “No?”

“I’m not supposed to be alone with you.”

She blushes.

He pushes his glasses further up on his nose.

And they’re at an impasse.

“Can I come in anyway?” she finally asks.

“Yeah,” he says nervously.  “Sure.  You wanna sit?  Just shove that stuff onto the floor.”

She moves to do just that.

“Carefully!” he squeaks.  “I’ll do it.  I’ll do it.”  And suddenly he’s rushing around his desk and rescuing stacks of books and papers from a desperate crash onto the concrete floor.

“I wasn’t actually going to shove them,” she says.

He looks up in shock.  There’s a smile playing about her mouth.  Some sparkle is in her eyes.  And he can’t stop himself from gathering her into a crushing hug.  She stiffens slightly in his arms, but she doesn’t balk.  “God,” he exhales reverently, “I’ve really missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she says into his shoulder.  “I’m really sorry.”

He chuckles.  “I think that phrase is taboo, Sam.”

She leans back in his embrace and punches him in the shoulder lightly.  “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.  If anything I should apo—“

“Stop,” she says with a laugh.  “Let’s just call those words off limits for the time being, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says before pulling her tight against his chest again.

They must stand that way for several minutes, but he’s loathe to let her go.  Besides, he gets the impression she’s got something on her mind.  He’ll wait her out.  He’s good at that.  And then, when she does speak, she gouges out his heart.

“How can you touch me?  Knowing what was done to me?”

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts.  “Is that what this is about?”  He tightens his arms around her.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll get…”

“Get what?”

“I’m…”

“You’re…”

She pulls back from him and places a warm palm on his cheek and meets his eye with a strength he didn’t know she had repossessed.  “Aren’t you worried I’m contagious?”

“Sam, last time I heard, torture wasn’t catching.”

“Do you think I’m ruined now?”

“Oh, Sam.  You're so far above being ruined.”

He tries not to cry, but he’s not sure how anybody could _not_ cry when faced with that look in her eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Why me?” she finally gets up the nerve to ask Teal’c.

“I do not understand the question, Major Carter.”

“There were thousands of Vontani women on that planet.  Women who had been groomed all their lives to serve Votan.  Women who would have found honor in that duty.  So, why me?”

“You are a rare and precious find, Major Carter.  Even Votan would be drawn to that.”

“I’m not so rare and precious anymore,” she says with what she hopes is a careless shrug.  She’s pretty sure she’s not fooling any of the guys at this point.  And despite all the positive feedback she can’t quite bring herself to believe them.

“You believe you are…what is the phrase the Tau’ri use in this situation?  Damaged merchandise?”

She can’t help a tiny grin.  “Damaged goods, Teal’c.”

He reaches out a gentle hand to lift her eyes to his.  “Do you believe you are damaged goods, Major Carter?”

She shrugs and tries to turn her face away but he presses his large warm palm from temple to jaw and holds her gaze.  His dark eyes penetrate into her soul and she can’t help the rush of tears or the sob that bursts forth from her chest.  “Yes.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Perhaps something should be done about Major Carter,” Teal’c decrees over crappy frozen yogurt in the commissary. 

Jack rolls his eyes.  “About what, precisely, Teal’c?”

“She seems to think we find her substandard.”

“I don’t think she’s feeling substandard,” Daniel says wryly.

“She doesn’t feel pretty,” Jack says around a mouthful.

“Uh, that’s simplifying the issue, don’t you think, Jack.”

Jack just shrugs.

“I’m not sure Sam’s the sort of woman who’s ever felt pretty.”

Jack scoffs.  “Carter?  No way.”

“She’s not exactly a girly girl,” Daniel points out.

“Sure she is.  She’s got all those flow-y…things,” he gesticulates.

“Skirts?”

“Yeah.  With, you know,” he rolls a hand through the air, “flowers and stuff on ‘em.”

“Um, okay.  Jack, you’re fired.”

“From what?”

“Making Sam feel pretty duty.”

“I didn’t know that department was hiring,” he mutters.

“The problem is not that Major Carter doubts her looks.  I believe she knows she is beautiful, Daniel Jackson.”

Jack’s eyes fly to Teal’c’s face.  Huh.  He didn’t know the big guy noticed things like that.

Daniel starts to object but Jack interjects, “Eh, he’s right.”

“You’re the one who said she doesn’t feel pretty,” Daniel points out less than helpfully.

“I may have oversimplified matters a little.”

“You think?”

“Major Carter feels unclean due to the way she was used by the Jaffa.  Do Tau’ri women find intercourse unpalatable?”

“They do when it’s forced on ‘em, Teal’c.  Jeez.”  Jack shoves his frozen yogurt away in disgust.  “What, women like to be raped on Chulak?”

“I was merely making a point, O’Neill.”

“Oh.”  Jack takes a few breaths and tries to simmer down.

“I don’t think Sam had an abundant sex life before…”

“Do we really need to speculate on Carter’s sex life, guys?”

“Sorry, Jack.”

“Hey, you don’t think she was a…”

“A what?” Jack asks when it becomes apparent Daniel isn’t going to continue.

“You know…inexperienced.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Jack exclaims.  “She’s in her thirties.  She was engaged.  Don’t try to romanticize this, Daniel.  She had a full and active sex life before all this happened and she’ll have one again.  One day.”

“Since when are you so comfortable talking about sex?”

“Since when wasn’t I?”

“I don’t know.  I guess I just always assumed…”

“Daniel, I’m well past forty.  I was married.  I’ve had sex.  This isn’t exactly a taboo subject.

“Well, maybe you should talk to Sam then.”

 _Oh, for crying out loud_.  Yep.  He walked right into that one.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Look, I was nominated for this.  But if you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about it, I understand.”  It took him two weeks to work up the courage to say those words but he’s glad he finally did.  Except, Sam’s looking at him like he’s got two heads.

“Nominated for what?”

Oh.  Damn.  Apparently he skipped the important part.  How, precisely, to ease into this?  “Okay, it’s come to our attention that you’re feeling a little less than…”

“Less than…”

He rolls his eyes then soldiers on.  “Desirable.  Less than desirable these days.”

She flushes a brilliant pink and he feels a little bad for embarrassing her.  “Would you rather talk to Natalie about this?”  Maybe she’d rather talk to a woman.  He doesn’t know.  But he figures sometimes years of friendship trump even a female perspective.

“I’d rather not talk about this at all,” she counters.

“Okay.  Yeah.  I get that.”

She looks relieved.

“But I think we should talk about it anyway.”

She sighs.  “Really, sir?”

“Really.”

“Don’t you think this is a little…inappropriate?”

“Sam, you’re the one that brought it up,” he says on an aggrieved sigh.

“I did not.”

“Maybe not directly.  But you’ve mentioned feeling untouchable.  How, precisely, were we meant to take that?”

“I don’t know!” she huffs.  “In a non-sexual way.”

“But what happened to you was sexual.”

“And sometimes it was just garden variety torture, sir,” she spits.

“But I’m guessing it’s not the beatings that have you feeling like you’re…what’s the word you used with Daniel?  Contagious?”

She groans.  “That’s not exactly what I meant.  I’m not…I don’t have…”

“I know, Carter.  I see your med evals.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“Because just because your physicals are coming back clean doesn’t mean your…mentals…are.”

She chuckles.  “I’m not sure that’s actually a thing.”

“Oh, I can assure you it is.”

“Sir…”

“You’re desirable, Sam.  What they did to you…it didn’t change that.  It couldn’t.  You’re more than just that one part of you that was physically violated.”

“I was mentally violated, too,” she finally says even after he’s sure she doesn’t have anything to say.

“I don’t doubt that.”  He rakes a hand through his hair.  “I _know_ that,” he amends.  “I’ve been there.  You think I didn’t question what I could offer my wife after spending weeks with all manner of hell shoved up my ass?  When something like that can cause a physical reaction any man would try to deny?”

She looks at him, shocked, he’s sure, that he’d share something so personal.  “You know how hard it was to make love to my wife after some Iraqi bastard was able to make me come by doing things to me I’d never want in a million years?”

She almost reaches for him but detours to pick imaginary lint of a throw pillow.  “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Yeah, you can.  Because it happened to you.”

“Not like that.  I didn’t…I never…”

“Say it out loud, Sam.”

“I never got any pleasure out of what they did to me.”

“I’m not saying you did.  I didn’t get any pleasure out of what they did to me either.  But they physiological reactions don’t always stop.”

“Sometimes they thought I was enjoying it,” she says meekly.

He nods.  “Yeah.”

“But I didn’t.  I swear, I didn’t.”  She looks at him like she’s so lost and he thinks she probably is.

“I know.”

“How could you know?”

“Because I believe what you’re telling me.  And you’re not dirty, Sam.  Not at all.  Even if had happened a hundred more times than it did.”

“Sometimes when he’d beat me…”

His heart clenches as fat tears roll down her cheeks.  “Sometimes it would hurt so bad you’d wish he’d just fuck you instead.”

Her eyes slip closed and she bites her lip.  “I _begged_ him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get a little more uncomfortable now and I know some of you have noticed. This chapter was worse. It was worse to write. It was worse to edit. I imagine it’ll be worse to read. But stick with me, there will be a light at the end of the tunnel.
> 
> Many thanks to all who take time out of your busy days to read. I know you have lots of things you can do with your time and I’m honored you’ll share some of that time with me.


	11. Tertiary Emotion: Depression

She can’t help but catch her own eye in the mirror.  Oh, she tries not to.  But as she holds a towel around her with one hand and wipes steam off the mirror with the other it just…happens.  And before she’s conscious of any of it, before she even knows she is having a bad day, a sob bursts forth from her chest and tears course down her cheeks.

It isn’t until she hears a soft knock at the door that she remembers she isn’t alone.  It was the colonel again last night.  “Carter?”  His soft voice is barely any competition for the rap of his knuckles against the cheap particle board door she’s been meaning to replace.  She tries to focus on details that aren’t Jack O’Neill.  Like how to sob silently – a skill she never really perfected.

She hears the knob start to turn and then before she’s ready she can meet his eyes in the mirror.  His eyes flicker over her – both her form and her reflection – so very quickly that he’s turned on his heel before she’s able to exhale the sudden breath she’d sucked in when he appeared.  Moments later he appears with her bathrobe; he holds it for her as she threads her arms into the sleeves.  Once she’s tied the belt they both watch as the towel falls to the floor.  He clears his throat uncomfortably.  She toes the terry cloth and they just take a moment to breathe the same air.

“This part stops?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he nods sagely.

“Okay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She runs now.  She’d never been as thankful to be cleared for a fitness regimen as she had been this time.  And she thunders along.  Too fast, really, to be sustainable for a person who hasn’t exactly been allowed to physically overexert herself lately.  And she’s looking forward to the collapse after the workout with an almost deranged level of glee.  She’s breathing far too hard.  Her chest is tight.  Her lungs burn.  Her _calves_ burn and she can feel splints on her shins.  The arches of her feet don’t seem to fit properly against the supports in her shoes.  She’s affixed the mp3 player to her arm a little too tightly.  But it doesn’t matter because, well, the pain’s a little good.  It’s a little bit okay.  It feels like something real and is a little welcomed because, more than anything, it isn’t tears.  It won’t be.  These minor pains will never again be enough to make her cry.  And that makes her feel a little powerful.  And maybe a little sad, too. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He steps out onto the observation deck and can’t help but feel a little guilty.  He feels like this is _her_ place.  She should get to keep it.  Shouldn’t have to worry about him taking up her space.  But after the days – hell, after the weeks and months – they’ve been having, sometimes he just needs the crisp Colorado air to reach inside him and pull out the waste that’s left behind in the wake of just trying to hold them all together.  It’s days like this he wishes he still smoked.  Something about the cool air, seeing his breath fog in front of him, leaning on a cold metal railing, desperately needing something to do with his hands…

She’s either crying or she’s too quiet.  She eats too little.  Drinks just a little too much – coffee or alcohol, doesn’t seem to matter to her which.  She talks too little.  Sleeps too little.  And spends too much time staring off into the distance at, what he imagines, must be prettier places than her mind.

The docs both tell him the best thing he could do is just be around.  Listen.  But the truth is, he can’t be around as much as he wants to be.  He has a job to do and now that SG-1 is back on rotation, well, he’s going to be around even less.  Who will stay with her, he wonders, while he and Teal’c and Daniel are off world?  Maybe Janet will insist Sam spend the night at her place and bury herself in the distraction that is Cassandra.  Maybe she’ll be required to stay in her quarters.  That’d probably be it.  She doesn’t really have anywhere else to go or anyone to go there with, does she?

Jack looks down at his hands, wishes again he could will a cigarette into them.  Then he pushes off the railing and moves back into the warmth of the SGC feeling like he has failed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You know they’re going off world today?”

Natalie is aware SG-1 will be visiting another planet.  She’s also aware the three men are struggling with the idea of leaving Sam behind.  “Yes.  It’s supposed to be an…easy one…right?”

Sam smiles and nods.  “Standard recon mission.  Possible meet and greet.  Kid stuff.”  But her smile falters.

“Your mission to Votan was standard recon.  Right?”

“PX6-432 wasn’t at all what it was supposed to be.”

“But, these things happen sometimes, right?  You think a planet will be safe and then it isn’t?  That’s pretty much when you all have been dealing with since the beginning.”

Sam looks at Natalie with distrust.  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Are you worried something bad is going to happen to them while they’re gone?”

“There’s always some degree of worry when a team is off world.”

“And what degree of worry do you have for your team?”

“A normal amount.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Sam says stubbornly.

“So why are you here today?”

Sam meets Natalie’s eyes sharply.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you don’t have a regular session scheduled, you sat here for five minutes drinking coffee before you said a single word, and when you did speak you mentioned your team going off world.  But you’re not overly worried about.  So, I’ll ask again, why are you here?”

Sam sits back into the couch with a heavy sigh.  “I thought you said I could come any time.”

Natalie nods.  “I did.  I meant it.”

“So, do I really need a reason?”

“I don’t think you’ll be surprised to find that we do everything for a reason, Sam.  I’m just curious to know what brought you here today.”

Sam fiddles with a button on the cuff of her jacket.  Kills a little time.  Visibly collects her thoughts.  “I’ve been crying.  A lot.  And I was wondering if there’s anything you can do about that.”

“You don’t want to cry?”

“Not all the time!  And maybe not in front of the guys?”

“You just crying, Sam?  Or is it more than that?”

“Usually I just cry.”

“And during the unusual times?”

“Yes.  I break down.”

“What seems to be different about those unusual times?”

Sam thinks it over and Natalie can tell it’s the first time she’s done so.  She watches as a light catches behind Sam’s eyes.  “It’s…well, it seems like…”

“Go ahead.  Say it out loud.”  Natalie’s not sure what the revelation will be but she’d put money on it that it’s going to be good.

“It seems like it’s only when just the colonel is around.”

“Oh?”

Sam shrugs a little.  “Yeah.”

“And why do you think that might be?”

“Here lately he’s just about the only place I feel safe.”

It takes everything Natalie has not to scream with joy that her most reticent patient so quickly and easily voiced such a monumental observation.  But it’s also indicative of a problem she knew they’d be coming to.  So she collects herself and starts talking to Sam about SSRIs.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

While her team is away she adjusts to two-more-pills-a-day and her on-base quarters.  Natalie says it’ll take a couple of weeks for the meds to help, but when they do she shouldn’t be as inclined to burst into tears.  That’s good.  She’s soaked more than her fair share of the colonel’s shirts lately.  She didn’t really mind crying in front of him because he never really said anything to her about it.  Teal’c would raise an eyebrow and pat her shoulders uncomfortably even though he would wrap her into a hug.  Daniel was more than useless with crying women as he seemed to be under the impression he was supposed to be fixing something.

But the colonel... he’d just let her cry.  He wouldn’t say anything.  He wouldn’t hold her too close or trap her against his body.  He’d just curl an arm around her shoulders and let her lay her cheek against his collar bone.  Sometimes he’d tuck his head into her neck so she could feel the soft cadence of his breath against her skin just to give her something to focus on that wasn’t counting how many breakdowns _this_ made.

By the third night she’s pissed about crawling into the hard, single bed and she finally says _screw it_ and leaves base without one of her trusty chaperones.

It’s strange to be in her house alone at night.  They’ve never left her alone more than an hour or so and never when it wasn’t daylight.  She takes the opportunity to hand wash her more delicate underwear and chuckles about the look on Daniel’s face when he’d wandered into her bathroom and been confronted by silk and lace.  After that she’d vowed to _not_ wash those items when he could encounter them.  Even if the blush and stutter made her laugh harder than anything had in over six months.

And when that chore is done she thinks she might putter around the kitchen.  There she is confronted by the pile of paid bills from her time away.  She sits down and runs her fingers along the crisp edges of the envelopes.  She reaches over for a pencil and the calculator she keeps handy just for working on her bills.  She thinks about the colonel sitting right where she’s sitting, she thinks about his nimble fingers pulling open the flaps of the envelopes, thinks about him using the eraser of a pencil to mash calculator buttons, thinks about him writing check after check to make sure she had a home to come back to even when none of them were even sure she was still alive.

She totals up the amount she owes him.  She writes him a check for an ungodly amount of money she feels guilty she hadn’t paid back sooner and when she’s done she realizes she’s crying.  She curses but the tears remind her to take her evening pill.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam wakes up to the predawn hours and driving rain.  Thunder crashes off in the distance and is almost immediately followed by a flash of lightning.  She counts to four and hears another crash.  She thinks it strange that thunder would wake her it really hadn’t ever before.  And then she hears a slight shuffling, a thump and a muffled curse from the direction of her kitchen.  She tenses.  Another curse.  Then she takes a deep breath and settles back into her pillows.  She knows that voice.  She listens to the soft sounds of someone else puttering around her house.  The television comes on and then voices narrow away until all she can hear is a very faint drone.

She lays there and listens for a few minutes more and then gets up and draws her robe around her tightly.  Quietly she makes her way to the kitchen doorway.  She leans against the jam and watches as the colonel makes coffee.  Then he rifles through the fridge and comes out with an apple clutched between his teeth and his hands filled with a loaf of bread and a jar of the all-natural peanut butter nobody likes but her.  With his back still to her, he crunches into the apple.  She watches as he grabs the dishtowel off the counter and wipes juice from his chin. Then he sets about toasting two pieces of bread.  She continues to watch as he grabs a banana from the fruit bowl and starts slicing it into thin discs.  And when the toast is done he assembles a peanut butter and banana sandwich, pours a cup of coffee and then collects his breakfast and turns to head towards the living room and CNN.

“You’re home,” she murmurs when it’s clear he’s not noticed her presence.

He jerks and spins in her direction.  Coffee sloshes onto the floor, his apple rolls off his plate and onto the counter coming to a wobbly stop on the bite he’d taken out of it already.  And his eyes meet her with a shocked look.  “Yeah.  We got back a couple hours ago.”  He sets his plate down next to his apple and retrieves the dishtowel he’d used earlier to mop the coffee off the floor.  “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t,” she shrugs.  “Or, I don’t think you did.  I think it was the storm.”

“Since when do storms wake you up?”

“Since when do you know what does or doesn’t wake me up?”

“Carter,” he says with a small grin as he tosses the towel into the corner where, she now knows, he will collect it and any others later in the day after the dishes are done and take them to the laundry, “I’ve been sleeping next to you in a tent for years.  Birds, gunfire, Daniel blowing his nose – _those_ things wake you up.  Thunder?  Never.”

She shrugs.  “I like thunder.”

His grin blooms.  “I know.”

She tilts her head and she knows she must look like a cat trying to figure him out.  “Why did you come here?”

“Huh?”  He takes another bite of now slightly bruised apple and she thinks it’s probably because it’ll give him a moment to come up with an appropriate answer.

“You could have gone home.  Why did you come  here?”

“Turns out a Major Carter illegally sprung herself from base.  There was some concern as to her safety and state of mind.”

“So you know Natalie put me on—“

“Happy pills?”  He grins crookedly.  “Yep.”

“They’re not working yet.”

“Well, these things take time,” he says irreverently.

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone.  I just couldn’t stay there one more night.”

“Well, you made it two nights longer than I thought you would.  I lost ten bucks, by the way.”

“Add it to my tab,” she says and then remembers the check she wrote him the previous evening.  She wanders past him to fix herself a cup of coffee.  When she’s done he’s already gone on to the living room and has turned the television up to a better level he won’t have to strain to hear.  On her way to join him she grabs the check.  She drops it in his lap as she passes by him to sit on the other end of the couch.

“What’s this?” he asks as he picks it up and looks at it.  His eyes widen at the total.  “Carter, look—“

“No, sir.  Take it.”

He sighs heavily, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, neither do I.”  She sips her coffee and collects her thoughts.  “I appreciate what you did.  I really do.  I’d have lost everything if you hadn’t paid at least the mortgage.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says around a mouthful of toast crumbs, slick banana and tongue-thickening peanut butter.

She arches an eyebrow at him.

“I did it because as long as I did you were coming home.  And you would need a place to come home to.  Sam, I did it for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So that’s it then, she’ll be temporarily reassigned to the science department until she can meet the physical and psychological milestones we set for her.” Janet closes the file in front of her and slides it across the table to General Hammond.

“You know, now that she’s doing so much better it seems sort of wrong to be having these meetings _about_ Sam.”

“What makes you think she’s doing ‘so much better’, Daniel?”

“What? She’s not?  It’s been over four months.”

“She’s moving through the full range of emotions, Colonel O’Neill.  Psychologically we’d classify that as, well, better.”

“Well, tactically we’d say that better isn’t quite good.”

Natalie sighs.  “Doctor Jackson, we meet to discuss Sam’s progress, not to gossip about her.  Colonel O’Neill, please try not to discount progress because we haven’t yet reached the end stage.”

“What, exactly, is the end stage?” the colonel asks caustically.

“To put it simply, Colonel O’Neill, love.”

“Love,” he repeats, nonplussed.

“Yes.  When she’s able to love again – love herself, allow herself to love someone else – that’s how we’ll be able to tell she’s processed through all of this.”

“Right,” he scoffs.  “Okay, so where is she now?”

“Well, acutely, I’d say she’s suffering from depression.  That’s a part of sadness.”

“Says who?”

“Says who?” Daniel parrots.  “Sounds reasonable to me.”

“No,” Colonel O’Neill says with a rolling gesture, “I meant, what school of thought is the good doctor here following.”

“Ah,” Natalie continues, “Plutchik.”

“And who the hell is Plutchik?”

“He was a psychologist,” Janet volunteers.

“Right.  Great.” 

“I know you’re not a fan of our wheelhouse, Colonel, but what we do…it works.  If you’ll let it.”

“And Sam’s letting it?”

Natalie decides honesty will yield more than pride at the moment.  “Sometimes.  Right now I think she’s still mostly concerned with just getting through the day.”

“She does seem to be breaking down more than she was before,” Daniel observes.

“She’s finally dealing with some things.  She’s got enough distance from the situation to really look at it with, if not objectivity, at least with cautious subjectivity.  She’s processing, Doctor Jackson.  That’s good.  It also means we’ve moved passed the fear phase.”

Colonel O’Neill opens his mouth to speak and Natalie notes the wry look in his eyes.  “I’m not saying she’s not going to get scared anymore.  She will.  Of course.  But it means now we’re dealing with new emotions and, therefore, new ways to move past the event.”

“Okay, so this is good stuff then.  The depression?”

“Not good, necessarily,” Natalie’s quick to point out.  “But progress.  In the right direction.”

“Okay, well what comes next?”

“After sadness?”  She waits for the men to nod and then a smile blooms across her face.  “Anger.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You know,” Sam points out when she’s sitting across her dining room table from the colonel for the fourth night in a row, “I think I’ve proven that I can stay alone now.  You guys really don’t need to be taking turns staying here.”

“We’re not exactly taking turns anymore,” he says with a bluntness that surprises her.  He continues after she’s raised her eyebrow in question.  “Well, Daniel’s got a piece of rock that he’s really interested in studying and Teal’c has a new batch of airmen to teach about using energy weapons.  So you’re stuck with me.”

“I had noticed,” she says with some humor, “that you’ve been here more than your fair share.  But you can go home.  I managed to keep myself alive when you guys were off world.”

“You Carter-napped yourself after two days.”

“Sir, I came _home_.  I wasn’t exactly hard to find.  Hell, _you_ found me.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, I could use some…space.”

“I’ll give you all the space you need.  But I’m not leaving.”

Well, she hadn’t expected that.  “I’m sorry, sir?”

“I’m not leaving.  You’re just going to have to learn how to get some space with me still around.”

“But, sir,” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“But, nothing.  You’re taking drugs for depression.  Pretty hefty drugs with names I can’t pronounce.  You’re taking drugs for anxiety.  You’re taking drugs for pain even though you keep telling the doc you don’t _have_ any pain.  You don’t eat regularly.  You don’t sleep regularly.  You’re only working two days a week.  And I’m not going to let you hole up in your house and let life pass you by.”

“Sir,” she tries again.

“No, Carter.  You know, Doc Jordan said you’re were going to need friends – way back when you first came home.  I’m not sure I understood why.  I thought it was so you’d have someone to talk to.  But you’re not really talking.  So I think it’s about making sure you don’t die due to sheer negligence.  I’m here to make sure you don’t die.”

She sucks in a deep breath.  “Sir, I’m not going to die.  I’m fine now.  Physically, anyway,” she qualifies when she sees his eyebrows climb towards his hairline.  “You’re right, about all those other things, though.  I am on several meds.  And yes, I still have some pain.  No, I don’t really eat and yes, I still have trouble sleeping.  No, I’m not working enough to keep my mind engaged; but sir, I’m _not_ going to die.  I made it through the most brutal thing I could never have imagined.  This part?  The recovery?  This isn’t what kills me.  It just can’t be.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He has, Jack realizes, been lulled into a false sense of security.  It’s one thing to know, intellectually, that someone is depressed.  But when they interact with you mostly normally for a few days – even after a couple of weeks’ worth of them staining your shirt shoulders with tears – you start to believe that things are okay.  You forget that there are such things as good days and bad days.  And you forget that you’re not with someone 24 hours a day no matter what you might think.

And so, after a few days of things mostly being okay, and after a few assurances he took more to heart than he apparently should have, he’s surprised when she refuses to get out of bed the morning after she assured him she wasn’t going to die.

“Sam, c’mon.  You’ve got to eat something,” he cajoles through her bedroom door.

He hears tears in her voice when she says, “Please, just not right now.”

“I’m coming in.”

“No!”

“You’ve got twenty minutes to pull yourself together.  Take a shower.  Put on some clothes.  Because I’m coming in and I’m bringing breakfast.”

“Fine,” he hears her mutter and now petulance is mixed with the tears.

“Twenty minutes!” he says with a definitive knock on the door.

True to his word he goes back to her room twenty minutes later with a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee in his hands.   He taps the door with the side of his foot.  “Carter? Chow time.”

When she doesn’t answer right away he’s not worried.  He had, after all, advised her to get a shower.  So he pushes the bedroom door open and sees no lights have been turned on in either the room or the attached bathroom – where the door stands wide open.  “Carter?”

Then he notices her window.  It’s open, as usual.  But the screen’s been removed.  And she’s gone.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Colonel O’Neill’s going to be pretty worried.  So, I’m going to call him.”

Janet startles when Sam’s hand flies across the table and snatches the phone out of her hand.  “No.”

“Sam, he just needs to know you’re okay.  What were you thinking sneaking out of your bedroom window like a teenager?  And how did you get here so quickly?”

“I can run now, remember?”

“You _ran_ here?”

“ _Please_ don’t call him.”

Just then the phone rings in Sam’s hand and startles her.  She drops the phone onto the table and Janet strikes out for it.  She glances at the caller ID.  “It’s the Colonel.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She’s not accustomed to doing childish things.  And she’s certainly not accustomed to having to face her commanding officer as if he were her father.  So she refuses to even blush when Janet drops her off at home and the colonel opens her front door with a scowl.  He starts to speak but she cuts him off.  “I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

She’s halfway down the hall when she hears him mutter, “I thought we weren’t supposed to be at anger yet.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She spends the better part of two days so pissed at him that she doesn’t speak a single phrase to him that isn’t laced with epithets.  But apparently she took him to heart when he told her he wasn’t leaving because she doesn’t order him out of her house while she’s spitting nasty words at him.  And after two days of being treated like he’d bought her a vacuum for their wedding anniversary he’s shocked as hell when she appears in the living room doorway with tears streaming down her face.

“You don’t deserve any of what I’ve said to you these last few days.”

He can’t help but grin and he pats the couch cushion next to him so she’ll sit.  “I figure you’ve got a handful of free passes.  And besides,” he says with a self-deprecating half-shrug, “I probably do deserve at least some of it for past actions if nothing else.”

“But you’re my commanding officer.  You should have been reprimanding me for my behavior.”

“I think we can agree that what happens in your house isn’t related to the jobs we do for the Air Force.”

“We’re always officers, sir.”

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally.  “But, you know, technically I’m not your commanding officer right now.”

She looks up at him sharply.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re on medical leave from my command.  You’re working outside my capacity in very limited form.  I’m not your CO.  At least not until you’re cleared for active duty.”

“So I’ve spent all day worried I was going to be court martialed for nothing?”

“Sam, did you really think I charge you for…what?  Being a pain in the ass?”

She chuckles.  “I’m having a little controlling my emotions.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says dryly.

“When was I removed from your command?” she asks after a few quiet moments.  “And why wasn’t I told.”

“It just happened.  And you pretty much haven’t been talking to me for a couple of days.”

“So what now?”

“Now you continue to work on your science projects a couple days a week and spend some time concentrating on getting better.  You’ve got all the time you need.”

“I need to get back to work full time.”

“Okay,” he agrees.  He’d anticipated this.  He’d also anticipated a little more reaction to the revelation that he wasn’t her CO anymore, but he’d take what he could get.  “So you’ll talk to the docs and find out exactly what you need to do to get that done.  I’m not sure about field work, but I’d imagine the requirements for full time work on base would be a little less stringent.”

“Okay then,” she says with finality.  “So now I have a plan.”

“Actually you have a plan to make a plan.”

She smiles at him but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.  Not quite out of the woods yet, he supposes.  But, as Natalie said, it’s progress.  In the right direction.  And for now he’ll take it.


	12. Secondary Emotion: Suffering

“Sometimes I still hurt but I’m all healed up.”

“Yeah,” Jack nods.  “Sometimes that happens.”

Sam leans back and takes a sip of her hot tea then turns the mug in her hands to warm her fingers.  “Between the time and the healing device, I just didn’t think I’d still feel this way.”

“Well, that and the meds.  Right?”

“Which ones?”

“Pain pills.  Head fixers.  You choose.”

“Yes.  The anti-depressants.  I’d thought the pain was psychosomatic at this point.”

“And now you think it’s not?”

“They’re not helping.”

“Yeah, Sam.  They’re helping.”

“Not with the pain, they’re not,” she says with so much anger it surprises him.  “I’m so damn tired of hurting.”

“There’s more than one kind of pain.”

“What?  You think I don’t know that?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack wanders around his darkened living room, a pen in one hand and a glass of neat whiskey in the other.  Now that Teal’c’s back he’s taking a night with Carter and Jack finds he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself when he’s not walking on egg shells around her. 

He realizes all the things he’d like to have his hands in right now have migrated to her house over the course of the last few weeks.  The paperwork he doesn’t want to do but that Hammond’s been griping about – the paperwork he’d retrieved the pen for – is sitting on her dining room table next to her stack of resumes for candidates for open positions in the science department.  The shirt with the Guinness stain he’d been trying to get out is soaking in her laundry sink with a sweater she dropped cocktail sauce on.  The DVD he’d rented so he could watch shit blow up is sitting on top of her DVD player next to some girly new-age music CD she’d taken to blaring in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep – mostly that, she’d said, because nothing about it sounded at all like the clanking of Jaffa armor in a stone hallway.

Jack detours to the kitchen and dumps his barely-touched glass of whiskey down the sink drain, snags his jacket off the back of a dining room chair and his keys off the table.  Who the hell was he trying to kid?  He didn’t need – or want – a break.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They’re standing shoulder to shoulder in the laundry room trying to scrub stains out of tops.  She makes a disgusted sound low in her throat and thrusts her soft pink sweater into his hands and snatches the worn flannel out of his.

“I’m not making any progress with that.  Trade me.”

He chuckles.  “Looks like I already have.”

“You didn’t have to tell Teal’c to go, you know.”

“What?  You want me to call him back?”

Sam shrugs but he catches a half smile out of the corner of his eye.   He feels the callouses on his trigger finger catch against the fibers of her sweater and turns his fingers a little so it won’t happen again.

“I’m just picturing him pointing a staff weapon at your stereo speakers about the time one of those whale calls comes blaring out of it.”

This time Sam smiles outright but ducks her head so he only sees a flash of her pearly white teeth.  “I don’t think they allow him to take his staff weapon off base, sir.”

“I think he’d find a way.”

He massages a little more stain remover into her sweater and watches as the reddish orange blotch begins to fade away.  He grunts affirmatively and shows it to her.  She, in turn, shows him the stain on his shirt is gone as well.  “Looks like we did it.”

“It feels good to watch stains just disappear, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says but can’t help the catch in his throat.  “It does.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Several days later he wakes her up from yet another nightmare.  She feels like she hasn’t slept more than a couple hours at a stretch since this new round began.  Those first nights he was reluctant to even venture into her room.  Tonight, she notices, he sits on the edge of her bed.

“You back with me?”

She nods, and then swallows the thick saliva of fear that has collected on the back of her tongue.  “Yeah.”

“Coffee, tea or hot chocolate?”

She flicks the sweat-dampened covers off her legs and revels in the rush of cool air across her overheated skin.  She watches goose pimples raise up across her shins and contemplates her choices.  “Coffee.”

He sighs.  “So we’re up for the day.”

“Yep,” she says definitively.

He glances at the clock.  “Well, at least we made until three thirty this time.”  And he trails her out of the bedroom.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next night Jack finds himself sitting off world, soaking up the warmth of a campfire, and nursing a bruised shoulder.

“I can’t believe you were taken down by a sling shot,” Daniel chuckles as he hands over a cup of coffee.

“I was taken down by a rock.  That was propelled by a sling shot.”

“I believe the young warrior was prepubescent,” Teal’c volunteers with a Jaffa-esque smirk.

“All right, all right,” Jack grouses.

The three men sit quietly for a few minutes and poke at the damp dirt with sticks.  Daniel belches delicately and Teal’c follows up with a sound that rattles the branches above them.  Jack chuckles.

“Sam really did temper our baser nature, didn’t she?” Daniel observes.

“Some things are not meant for mixed company, Daniel Jackson.”

“Some times it’s nice to just be guys.”

“I miss her.”

“We all miss her, Daniel.”

“How is Major Carter’s recovery progressing?”

“She’s…” Jack’s not sure how to answer.  He tosses a small rock into the fire and watches embers rise up in its wake.  “She’s suffering.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next evening they’re huddled up in a cave and Jack’s madder than a hornet.  “She’ll be fine,” Daniel tries to soothe.

“We were supposed to be back six hours ago.”

“I’m sure she’s on base.  Or with Janet.”

“ _I’m_ sure she’s home, trying to tough it out and climbing the walls.”

“What?  Why?”

“She’s not sleeping, Daniel!  What do you think that does to a person’s state of mind?”

“So what’s different about tonight?”

“I believe it is that O’Neill is not there with her.”

“Do you stay there every night?”  He’s curious.  He knew that for a while she needed someone with her, but he was sure that by now she’d be able to stay on her own.

“Not every night,” Jack says slowly.

Daniel can tell he’s hedging.  “Jack…”

“What?” the older man asks caustically.  “What could you possibly have to say about this situation, Daniel?  You have some kind of ancient insight into how to help your friend when she’s going off the rails?  You know some way to help that doesn’t include the instruction to ‘be there’?”

Daniel raises his hands in supplication.  “I was just asking.”

“You don’t just ask.”

“This time I was.”  On Jack’s withering glare he says, “Really.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She’s sitting on her couch with her face buried in her hands.  She’s rocking back and forth.  And even in her newly fragile state of mind she knows this isn’t okay.  At first she’d been irritated to learn someone had to be with her all the time.  And then she adjusted to having one of the guys around simply because the company was nice.  Slowly it transitioned and only the colonel stayed with her.  And a little while later she realized he was with her every night.  Well, every evening and weekends, too, if she were honest.  And she’s gotten used to never really being alone with her demons.

The first few times he’d had missions she’d been distracted with nights on base or dinner with Janet and Cassandra.  But she really thought she was ready to stay by herself.

She was wrong. 

She wanders aimlessly around her house for a while until she realizes she’s cataloguing his existence in her house.  His paperwork on the dining room table, his reading glasses on the coffee table, his coffee cup in the dish drainer, his jeans folded on top of the dryer, and his duffel bag on the floor next to the couch.

She flings open the door to the room she tries to call a home office slash guest room but that has become, more than anything else, a storage unit where boxes go to die.  The red numbers on the digital clock next to the small bed are barely visible through a layer of dust and read 2:37 am.  She picks up the box nearest the door and starts hauling things out to the garage.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Damn it, sir,” Jack spouts as soon as he steps through the gate.  “I want to know exactly which pipsqueak scientist sent us in the wrong fucking direction.”

“Colonel O’Neill,” Hammond’s voice comes resignedly over the loudspeaker, “med evals and then debrief.”

“Just tell me you know who it was, General.”

And as pissed as he is, he finds himself answering the slight grin on the General’s face.  “The situation has been handled.  Major Carter briefed the technician on proper use of compasses on planets with varying geomagnetic fields.”

That means she’s on base.  She’s on base and she’s pissed because someone kept him from getting home to her on time.  Well, you know, maybe that’s why she’s pissed.  A grin spreads fully across his face.

“Infirmary first, Colonel,” the General reminds him, but even Jack can hear the smile in the man’s voice.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The fact that he was able to lean against the door to her lab for so long without being noticed was very telling.  Her eyes were dark and sunken.  She held her mouth tightly and her shoulders were up around her ears.  “I heard you about took a lieutenant’s head off today.”

She jumps more than six inches into the air at the sounds of his voice.

“Just me,” he soothes.  “Did you sleep at all?”

She sinks down onto the stool by her worktable and shakes her head with a sigh.  “I don’t think so. Not really.  And I only took his head off because I’m not allowed to demote people.”

“What say we go home?  I could use a hot shower and some hot chow.  You look like you might need at least one of those yourself.”

“There’s nothing to eat at home.”

He shrugs.  “I’ll pick up Chinese on the way.  C’mon.” He holds a hand out to her and wonders if she’ll take it.  She doesn’t, but she does take it as an invitation and precedes him out the door.  So they can go _home_.  Together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He wakes to the sound of a blood-curdling scream.  He sits up, disoriented in the bed she prepared for him after weeks of sleeping on her couch.  The upshot is that he’s only a short sprint to her bedroom now.  When he flings open the door, he's confronted by the business end of her service pistol and a wild look in her eyes.

“Sam, put down the gun.”

“No, sir,” she says with a calm that freezes his veins.

“There’s nobody here but you and me.”  He chances a few steps into the room and notices that her gun stays trained on the door and he’s got to admit he feels a damn sight better knowing it wasn’t him she was aiming for.

The bushes rustle outside her bedroom window and she swings the gun in that direction.  “He’s here.  I can feel him.  Hear him.  Can’t you smell him?”

“Sam,” he takes another cautious step towards the bed and curses the four feet of space and half a bed between him and disarming her, “listen to me.” He shivers in the cool air of the room.  “Look at me.”

She does after a moment but her gun remains pointed at the window.

He indicates his sleepwear.  “Do I look dressed for a showdown?  It’s you and me and a hell of a breeze out there.”  He gestures towards the window and her eyes flicker back in that direction before taking in his flannel pajama pants.

The moonlight glints off her dog tags in uneven measures as her chest heaves and he’s momentarily frozen by the sight of a warrior swathed in a down comforter.  Her arm relaxes and a moment later the gun is on her bedside table and the safety snicks on.  He exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Is that loaded, Sam?”

“What do you think?”

He sighs.  “So, coffee?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They stand facing one another in her living room.  “I didn’t mean to hold a gun on you, sir.”

“I know.  But you did.”

She nods.  “I did.”

“You know anybody’s going to have to go through me to get to you, right?”

She wants to believe that but declines to answer.  Instead, “What was it like for you?”

He takes the change of subject in stride.  “Those were different days, Carter.  I slept with a knife under my pillow, a gun in my bedside table and a terrified woman by my side.”

“Did you ever hurt her?”

“No.  But I was lucky.  I know guys who did hurt their wives.”

“Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

“Not on purpose.”

“But…you think I could?”

“Yeah, Carter, I think you could.”

She walks back to her bedroom and retrieves her gun.  When she gets back he’s standing right where she left him.  She hands him the gun.  “I’m not getting any better.”

“Maybe it’s time you started taking getting help a little more seriously.”

“I cancelled my last three scheduled sessions.”

“I know.”

“You do?”  She’s surprised.  “Why didn’t you make me go?”

“What would you have done if I did?”

“I’d have been pretty pissed.”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t have talked to her.”

“You haven’t been talking to her.”

“I guess not.”

“Sam, I’m with you all the way.  However long this takes.  You’re not going to get better until you’re ready to get better.  But she can help.”

“If I’ll let her.”

“You’ve got to let her do her job.”

And she knows he’s right.  Because she can’t do this anymore.  Not like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who have engaged me in conversation about this story. Also, many thanks to those who are taking the time to read and/or review – your time is precious and I appreciate every moment you share with me.


	13. Primary Emotion: Sadness

“Colonel O’Neill says it’s time for me to start taking therapy more seriously.”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m tired of waking up screaming.”

“It’s been…a while now.  Not everyone decides right away that they want to get better.  Not everyone even sees the problem.  And for some people the real struggles take a while to manifest.  Your body was putting a lot of effort into physical healing for a long time.”  Natalie shrugs.  “Now it’s your brain’s turn.”

“I pulled a gun on Colonel O’Neill last night.”

Natalie’s eyebrows climb up her forehead and Sam thinks she might have found that comical if the subject matter were a little less dire.  “And that’s what prompted him to suggest you take your therapy more seriously?”

“Well, no,” Sam decides.  “I think he was more worried about me and the nightmares.  But we both agree I am capable of hurting him if I continue on like this.”

“Just him?”

“He spends more time with me than anyone else does.  Statistically speaking he’s more likely to the target of my bad moment.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that.  Scuttlebutt has it that Colonel O’Neill’s moved in with you.”

“What?!” And Sam’s completely sure she doesn’t like that defensive shriek in her voice.  “No.  No.  Absolutely not.”

“Wow.  That was a pretty strong reaction.”

“Was it?”

“Sam.”

Sam fiddles with her wristwatch for a moment.  “Okay, yeah, it was a strong reaction.”

“Yes,” Natalie nods exaggeratedly, “it was.”

“He hasn’t…moved in, exactly.”

“Then what _has_ he done?  You know…exactly.”

“He stays over.  Most nights.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Sam considers all the possible answers quite carefully.  Safe? Comfortable? Happy?  Maybe not any of those things.  But maybe all of them.  At least, in small measures.  And only when he’s around.  When he’s not there she vacillates between freaking out and counting moments until he returns.

“I’m not sure, precisely.  But it’s not bad.”

“So…it’s good?”

“It’s…” and Sam finds she doesn’t have a clear-cut answer.  Finally she settles on, “It’s okay.”

“When was the last time you lived with someone?”

Sam can’t help the shudder that precedes her one word answer.  “Jonas.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack watches her warily out of the corner of his eye as he peels potatoes.  She’s been jumpy ever since she got home.  He knows she saw Doctor Jordan but he’s not sure how to bring it up.  So, instead, he peels potatoes and watches her out of the corner of his eye like a coward she doesn’t need.

She pretends to work her way through the mail but he’s watched her take the same letter out of the same envelope three times.  Watched her refold it and stuff it back into the envelope. And then watched her pull it back out.  But he wants her to start the conversation. 

Then, as if he’s willed it, she begins.  “We talked about Jonas today.”

He’s no psychologist but he thinks that perhaps that topic of conversation was not the most helpful one they could have broached.  Instead of pointing that out he settles for, “Oh yeah?”

Sam nods and puts the letter back in the envelope.  “I don’t know why.  Natalie asked me when I last lived with someone and it was Jonas.  And then we were talking about him.”

“Okay.” Jack knows he sounds like a half idiot the way he draws out the simple word.  He’s not sure what they’re really talking about.

“Did you know people think you live here now?”

And there it is.  He could lie to her and tell her nobody’s mentioned it to him.  But what would that yield him?  “It might have come up once or twice.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” he answers honestly.  “Does it bother you?”

She pulls the letter back out of the envelope and pretends to study it but he knows she’s likely got it memorized by now.  “I don’t know.”

“Because I’m not leaving.”

She chuckles and it makes him smile.  “No, sir, I didn’t think you were.”

“Well, just so we’re clear.”

“We’re clear.”

“How does it make you feel?  Really, Sam, I want to know.”  He turns so the countertop cuts into his lower back and wipes his starchy hands on a dishtowel. 

She puts the letter back in the envelope.  “A little sad, I think.”

He resists the urge to step toward her.  “Sad?  Why?”

“All the things I’ve done in my life…everything I thought I had to offer…all the things I thought I wanted…then all the things I knew I didn’t…and this is what it takes to find someone who won’t walk away?  _Now_?  When I’m,” her hands flutter as she messily indicates her person, “whatever _this_ is?  _This_ is what I have to be to keep a person around?  I guess there’s really something to the whole damsel in distress thing.”

He cocks his head to the side in the way that usually makes her smile but she disappoints him by not even looking at him.  “Is that why you think I’m here?  Some sort of _damsel in distress thing_?”

“Well, why are you here?”

He shrugs.  “I go where I’m needed.”

“And you’ve decided you’re needed now?”

“If not now, when?”

“Oh, God, sir.  I don’t know.  Any _other_ time over the last few years?  Any _other_ time when I wasn’t _this_?”

“What makes you think there’s something so wrong with _this_?”

“Because things that are right don’t feel like this.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She loves that she’s able to run again.  She sets off in the early mornings nearly every day.  On this day, though, there’s a low, rough fog and a bit of a mist that keeps the clouds hanging low around the ground.  She likes running through the fog and feeling the pull in her lungs. She likes the heavy feeling of her running clothes as they become more saturated with water.  The longer she runs the more the mist turns into a light sprinkling of drops that at a mile and a half into her run turns into a drizzle that another half mile in turns into a driving rain that makes her feel really alive for the first time in a long time.

The rain, though it makes her feel alive, doesn’t do anything about the sadness that has settled deep in her chest over the past couple of weeks.  She’s been in a holding pattern.  She’s not challenging anything around her. She’s mostly just going through the motions.  The colonel cooks breakfast; she eats it.  Someone brings a device to her lab; she examines it.  SG-1 goes off world; she doesn’t.  The doctors prescribe more medicine; she takes it.  It’s time to run; she runs.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She wonders if she’ll ever really feel like a woman again.  Since she’s been home she’s been careful to not think of herself in terms of being female – at least not since the soft, female parts of her healed on their own.  She absolutely would not, _could not_ , talk about _that_ with anyone – her father – holding a Tok’ra healing device.  But, inexplicably since her body fat is still so low, her period started again.  After that she can’t help but study herself in the mirror. 

She lost a lot of weigh while she’d been a captive of Votan’s Jaffa.  She’d been a very respectable 134 pounds when she’d been taken.  And a paltry, scrawny 104 when she’d been returned.  Basically, Janet had told her, precisely what a human skeleton with essential muscle mass and internal organs would weight at her height.  She hadn’t even known it was possible to lose 30 pounds in six months when you were already at a healthy weight.  But apparently it was very possible.  In the four and a half months since she’s been back – longer than she was gone, she realizes with a start – she’s only gained ten of those pounds back.

And looking in the mirror she can see it.  Her breasts – once a feature she had a fair amount of feminine pride about – are flat and sagging like she is older than she really is.  Her hipbones are prominent.  Her arms as well – the collarbones and shoulder blades protruded in a way that seemed almost grotesque to her.  Her thighs, once shapely and well toned, seem like the thin strips of muscle in crab legs to her now.

And yet, yet…she has her period.  She wonders at that a little.  Thinks it might have been something she’d have been irritated about once.  But, instead, it makes her feel like her power – whatever it is deep inside her that allows her to fight – might be accessible again one day.

It takes her a moment to get over her embarrassment, but the colonel’s at the grocery story and there’s not a single feminine product in her house.  She picks up the phone and calls his cell.  She almost thinks she hears a smile in his voice when he agrees to pick up the necessary items.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He watches as she pushes pasta around her plate.  Normally he’d be pushing her to eat.  But not tonight.  Tonight he’s just happy she’s gotten back a part of herself.  A part of herself he’s surprised by considering her recent medical evaluations.  But what the hell does he really know?  Marriage and age don’t really give a man all that much insight into the mysterious inner workings of a woman’s body.  But he figures he’s only been this pleased about a woman getting her period just one other time in his life and that was an entirely different situation almost thirty years in his past.  And he can honestly say he’s never so gleefully and without coercion purchased tampons in his life.  The bag of individually wrapped Dove chocolates he’d casually tossed onto the kitchen counter had also particularly pleased her. He’s hoping the way she plowed through half the bag is the reason she’s not all too keen on dinner.

Hell, he’s more likely to throw a party in honor of the calories she’d consumed so easily.  He can’t remember the last time he’d watched glee flit across her face.  But that’s what the chocolate had lit in her eyes.  And if that’s what it takes he’ll bring home bags of the stuff.  Then again, he supposes she should probably be putting all that lost weight back on in a healthier manner.  But beggars weren’t to be choosers and he’s been doing his fair share of begging ever since she’d been taken.

Later that evening they wash dishes side by side since she objects to using the dishwasher when there are only two people’s worth of dishes to do.  As happy as he is, though, that there’s been some forward progress, he’s concerned by how quiet she’s been tonight.  So, when the dishes are done he pours her a half glass of wine and sits with her on the couch.

“So…it’s been a good day,” he starts.

“Yes, sir,” she manages a grin and snags the bag of chocolates off the coffee table where he’d thrown them in an attempt to shift her focus towards dinner a couple hours before.

“You had therapy today?”

She nods.  “I did.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She sighs, eats a chocolate, takes a sip of wine and repeats.  “I don’t think we made much progress.”

“No?”

“We talked about…well, dad, really.  And Mark a little bit.”

“Uh…okay.”  He not sure why the doc is wasting time on Sam’s ancient history when there seem to be more pressing matters to discuss, but he’s not the one who got his Ph.D. in psychology.

“Yeah, that was my reaction, too.”

“Give her the benefit of the doubt, Carter.  She probably knows what she’s doing.”

“Well, we sort of got to them in a round about way.”

“In what way?”

“We were talking about the nightmares.”

“I thought you dreamed about the…”

“Yeah.  Me too.”

“But…no?”

“Apparently not all the time.”

“Sometimes you dream about your family?”

“Sometimes, sir, I dream about lots of other things.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“What does it feel like to be happy?”

“Haven’t we done this part already?”

Natalie rolls her eyes.  “A really, really long time ago.  And, if you’ll recall, you didn’t answer the question then.”

“I still don’t know the answer.”

“Try.”

“Natalie—“

“Humor me, Sam.”

“I know what happy isn’t.  Can’t that be enough?”

“Maybe for people who aren’t actively trying to be happy.”

“I’m not actively trying to be happy.”

“So what are you trying to be?”

“I don’t know.  Functional?”

“You’re plenty functional, Sam.  You never went through dysfunctional.  Skipped right over that part.  That’s okay, you didn’t miss anything crucial,” Natalie hurries to point out when Sam eyes go a little stricken. 

“I don’t feel like I have it all together yet.”

“Because you don’t.  But there’s a difference between dysfunction and just not having solved all your issues.”

“Okay.”

“So.  What does happiness feel like?”

“I don’t know, Natalie,” Sam says with exasperation.  “The complete opposite of what I’m feeling right now.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So you don’t think you’ve been happy at all since you came home?” Jack can’t help but ask after another one of what Sam described as an unproductive session.

“No.  Yes.  I don’t know.  I guess not.”

“Think hard.  Things haven’t been all bad.”

“No, I don’t suppose they have.”

“So just one, tiny – fleeting, even – moment of happiness.”

“I don’t know, sir.  Those chocolates were pretty good.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Come have coffee with me.”  Sam looks up from the paperwork she’s been hunched over for several hours.

“I don’t have time, Daniel.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam.  Real coffee.  Starbucks,” he cajoles.

She has to admit some non-base coffee _does_ sound insanely good.  “One cup,” she offers but she’s already closed the file in front of her and has her jacket half on.

“All right!” he pumps a fist into the air with far too much enthusiasm.

“It’s just a cup of coffee, Daniel.”

“Hey, you take your victories, I’ll take mine.”

They’re barely three sips into their outrageously expensive coffees when he starts in.  “How are you really?”

She sighs.  She doesn’t want to have this conversation every time she talks to someone but it seems inevitable these days.  “What if I just told you we’re on it?”

“We?”

“Me and Natalie.”

“And Jack?”

“Daniel…” Damn she doesn’t want to go ten rounds of ‘has Colonel O’Neill moved in with you?’ today.  Not for a second time, anyway.

“Sam, I just want to make sure you’re getting the help you need.  Because, you know, I’m here if you need me.  Teal’c, too.”

“I’ve got help, Daniel.  I just need a little normalcy.”

“So less talk about how you’re feeling all the time.”

“That would be truly excellent.”

He shifts back in his seat and takes care to look less vigilant; she’ll give him that.  “So, this is _really_ good coffee, right?”

And when she dissolves into giggles she sees the worry lines that have been etched around his eyes for weeks start to smooth out.  _This_ , she thinks _, is a moment of happiness._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Natalie looks up with a start when Sam stalks into her office twenty weeks to the day after her return to Earth.

“I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So, where do we start?”

“I don’t know, doc, you tell me.”

Natalie grabs her legal pad and a pen, pours herself a cup of coffee and settles in across from Sam.


	14. Jack's Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude now, if you don’t mind. This chapter tells the story of how Jack spent his time while Sam was imprisoned.

**Part III: Anger**

Jack finds himself parked in Sam’s driveway more evenings than not since he left her on Votan and tonight’s no different.  He doesn’t sleep.  He’s not really eating.  He’s living off hot showers, black coffee and a blind rage that’s going to get him killed or fired one.

After the debrief – and the thrilling tale of SG-1’s failed attempt at a rescue – Hammond had sent a MALP through the gate and Jack hadn’t even had to ask.  When it was blown to smithereens by a staff weapon upon arrival on the other side, however, even Jack had admitted that sending a contingent of personnel through the gate was more stupid than risky.

And as if the oppressive guilt weren’t enough, he’s got the way Daniel looks at him all the time like Jack just shot his puppy.  Or, in reality, like he just left Daniel’s best-friend-cum-little-sister in the hands of a First Prime who they _knew_ for absolute certain was using her for things none of them would even begin to abide on Earth.

Yes, on day one, Jack was angry, scared, lost, beaten, but above all motivated.  He knew precisely where Sam was and what _wouldn’t_ get her back.  Then they couldn’t use that knowledge.  Jack took little comfort in those first days when Teal’c insisted – with setup they had on Votan – that Sam was unlikely to be moved.  But now, here on day five, he’s already grasping at straws and while knowing Sam’s likely precisely where he left her is a small comfort, it’s a comfort nonetheless.

He sits in his truck until a shaft of moonlight seems to illuminate her house key where it swings slightly on the key ring that dangles from his ignition.  Deciding he’s a man who should start looking for signs he uses his key to let himself into her home.  He finds it oddly clean – clean in the way things are when they’re simply undisturbed.  He’s not really sure how much time she ever spent at home or what she did when she was here, but it feels like whatever it was it _wasn’t_ actually living in her house.  Things are placed so specifically as if for decoration – even the reading glasses on the end table next to the couch. 

Since it’s been too many days since he’s seen her, and since it’s been so many nights since he slept, and mostly because it’s been too long since his hands had a purpose, he finds himself collecting her mail in the dark.  Then, a few hours later he finds himself soaking up a bit of quiet in the armchair in the corner.  A few hours after that and his cell phone is ringing. 

“Jack, where the hell are you?”

“What do you need, Daniel?”

“It’s...  The MALP, Jack.  Today’s MALP – it’s still transmitting signal.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.  Gear up.”

“General Hammond’s already made the order, Jack.  We’re just waiting on you.”

He’s already in the truck when he hangs up on Daniel.  His first reaction is elation – they’re going to go get Sam and bring her home.  His second reaction is self-loathing – they’re doing it twenty minutes later than they should be doing it because he had to go stroke an emotional bruise.  What the hell kind of man is he anyway these days?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

George tries not to show his disappointment and frustration when teams 1, 5 and 13 come back through the gate.  Dixon gives a rough shake of his head when he chances a look at George and all the other men’s eyes are affixed to the ramp when they hand over their guns.

He sighs heavily before keying the button for the intercom system.  “Med evals, gentleman.  Debrief in an hour.”

Then he holes himself up in his office and tries to remind himself he’s a General in the God Damned Air Force and not a grieving man.  A commotion in the Gate room draws his attention and he sees Colonel O’Neill losing his shit on a young Lieutenant and watches as that young Lieutenant stands there and takes it like a man, just like O’Neill needs him to.  These people are all far too good at being what everyone else needs and far too bad at taking care of themselves.  Proof positive, he thinks, illustrated by Samantha Carter’s capture in the first place as she was doing far too good a job at protecting her team and too doing damn little to protect herself.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Daniel cringes when he hears Jack’s heavy and angry sounding footfalls stop inside the door of his office.  He steels himself while his back is still turned to his always surly teammate and then turns around, schooling his expression into some combination of hope and will.  “What’s up, Jack?”

“Do you have anything?”

Daniel indicates the books scattered around him – most open – and the sheaf of papers in his hand.  “Nothing you haven’t already been briefed on.”

“It’s been almost a week since you came up with anything new.”

“You think I’m…what?  Playing hooky or something, Jack?  That I’m wasting time the three or four hours a night I’m sleeping?  Or maybe you’re objecting to those breaks I take here and there to eat and shower.”

“Carter is being _tortured_ right now, Daniel.”

“And I’m working as fast as I can.” Daniel tries so hard to be angry at Jack – for leaving Sam, for putting so much pressure on him, for just basically being an ass since the first SGC sanctioned rescue attempt had yielded little more than a couple of staff blast injuries for SGC personnel – but he finds all he’s really got the gumption for is another round of tears.  He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes to keep from falling apart in front of Jack completely.  The last time that had happened both men walked away feeling worse than they’d felt beforehand.

Jack turns to go but Daniel feels compelled to…what?  Soothe Jack?  Defend himself?  He’s not entirely sure.  “I’m working as fast as I can,” he repeats but this time with earnest.  He just hopes Jack believes him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Teal’c flattens O’Neill to the mat for the fifth time since they have been sparring.  He thinks the younger and still hotheaded man may need the physical reminder of his body’s limitations as he seems fairly intent on pushing himself past the point of usefulness.  His surly attitude and short tempter have intensified and those things, coupled with the physical manifestation of his anger and frustration, have made for a man most on base avoid and would brand as a _loose cannon_.

“You should stay down, O’Neill,” he advises when O’Neill rolls over with a groan and pushes himself onto his hands and knees.

“Or what?  You’ll _put_ me back down?”  Jack looks over his shoulder and meets Teal’c’s eye.

“Yes.”

O’Neill rolls his eyes and then does not follow Teal’c’s suggestion.  So they square off once more.  While O’Neill strikes with more force than usual and while the blows he lands are sharp and jarring he is predictable in his unpredictability and Teal’c has no problem knocking him down once more.

“You know, a real friend might throw a bout or two so I could get my head straight.”  O’Neill throws an arm over his eyes.

“I do not believe that to be true, O’Neill.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Looks like Mister Teal’c got the better of you tonight, Colonel.”

Jack just grunts while Janet swabs antibiotic ointment on the cut over his eyebrow and tapes it closed with a butterfly bandage.

“I’ve patched you up a handful of times over the last few weeks, sir,” she notes.

“I’m fine, Janet.”

She doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t like the knowing look she gives him.  She hands him a prescription bottle with a few painkillers inside and sends him home.  It’s not until he’s checked the mail, sorted it and twisted a cap off a bottle of beer that he’s aware sometime over the course of the last couple of weeks _home_ became Sam’s place.

The next day when he checks her mail there’s a late notice.  He starts ripping through envelopes and makes sense of all the mail that’s arrived in her absence.  When he sees the reminder notice for the mortgage followed by a much more strongly worded demand letter he knows he’s got to do something. 

He looks around him at the place that should remind him so much of her but really only serves to remind him she’s gone because until her capture he’d probably only been here a couple three times.  So he sits down and writes a few checks, makes notes on the payment slips, wipes the thin layer of dust off all the surfaces and mows the yard.  After a day of putting her world back in order he feels just a little better – just a little more in control – and he feels a little bit like she’s rescue-able now.  So he puts on a uniform and heads back to base.  Time to get his head back into the game.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s only three days after he’s put Sam’s life on Earth back in order when Daniel comes bursting into the conference room with success painted all over his face.  He’s so excited that he forgets to use words Jack will understand but he gets the gist.  Daniel’s figured out how to circumvent the security measures that had previously kept the SG teams out of the fortress and out in the open long enough to be vulnerable to attack.

Just a couple hours later they’ve got a plan and a fifteen-person extraction team ready to cross the galaxy.

Twelve hours later eleven guys return with grim looks on their faces.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Daniel watches as Jack slams dangerously around the locker room. They’d hadn’t saved Sam and had lost two members of SG-3 and two members of SG-5 in the process.  Daniel tries to speak but Jack whirls around with fire in his eyes.

“How long has she been gone, Daniel? A month!  A mother-fucking _month_! Garrett and Nelson had kids.  Bowman was getting married next month.”

“What, you think I don’t know that?  You think I don’t care?”  When Jack doesn’t say anything, when his eyes turn from fire to ice, when his nostrils flare and fists clench and he takes a menacing step in Daniel’s direction, it all becomes clear.  “Oh my God.  You think it’s my fault.  You think we don’t have Sam and that those four men are dead because I screwed up.”  Daniel rakes a hand through his hair as he waits for familiar feeling of self-loathing to sweep through him.  Instead, though, he finds anger licking like flames up from his toes.  When the fire reaches his throat he spews it at Jack.

“There was absolutely no way _any_ of us could have known there were that many Jaffa there – in all the previous trips we’d made to the fortress we saw one _tenth_ that number and you know that.  The translation was flawless and _I_ know that because of what was _missing_ at the fortress.  But most of all, I resent the implication that I’m not _intimately_ aware of how long Sam’s been missing – as if I somehow don’t care as much as you do.  And I’m not indifferent to the lives that were lost today in the pursuit of saving hers.  So you can take your sanctimonious attitude and go to hell!”

He’s not at all surprised when Jack hits him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack knows it all started to go downhill after that second rescue attempt when they lost four members of the SGC and yet still failed to rescue Sam.  Since the disastrous encounter in the locker room Daniel had given him a wide berth.  Teal’c has been looking at him askance since he found out what happened.  Most everyone else looks at him like he’s an explosive device with a countdown timer approaching zero. Hell, Hammond had even put a reprimand in his file.  Apparently decking your subordinates was a no-no – even when you had a tenuous grip on reality.

Anymore, he stops at his house only long enough to grab clean clothes and make sure his own finances aren’t going to hell in a hand basket.  But he continues to sleep on Sam’s couch and drink her fancy coffee that just doesn’t hit the spot quite like Folgers seems to.

He listens to scary music at an inappropriate volume whenever he’s not on base simply because the noise keeps him from thinking too hard.  Because when he thinks he thinks about how the next rescue mission is more than likely going to be a recovery mission and how he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to handle that.

Still he keeps her life in such impeccable order no one else outside the SGC would ever suspect there’s anything amiss.  It makes him feel in control.  It also makes him feel a little crazy.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Weeks go by before Hammond authorizes another rescue attempt and this time it’s only after an undercover Tok’ra operative gets some intel that there’s a new plaything at Votan’s fortress of evil entertainment. 

The mission is SNAFU from the word go, of course.  But they opted against another guerrilla style extraction and decide on a more covert surgical strike. Hammond sidelines Jack as the mission commander, but at this point Jack figures he’s lucky Hammond’s even letting him go.  His temper has become legendary and just about all the team leaders recommend against his involvement.  Jack figures it is only the desperate look in his eyes that secures his position on the team.

When they make it inside the fortress with no loss of life, Jack’s so stunned he nearly loses the thread of the mission objective.  Hell, he was pretty sure this part was never going to happen.  Thank god he isn’t in charge after all, he supposes.  But once they’re inside they realize why the Tok’ra operative had kept referring to the place as a labyrinth. 

They’re overrun after an hour and make a strategic retreat.

They make camp several klicks east of the gate and try again after the next nightfall but this time the Jaffa are awaiting their return.  They don’t even venture inside.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By now what little sleep he’s getting is fraught with nightmares about finally getting to Sam only to find her half dead, then later fully dead, then later dismembered, and then after that snippets of her funeral and his own downward spiral into a bottle.  After that it’s random dreams of what might have been.  Sometimes he dreams about other close calls that didn’t end quite so well.  Then he starts dreaming about Charlie again. 

He can feel his long tenuous grasp on reality slipping through his fingers like so much sand.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He thinks he should be embarrassed one night when he saunters out of the shower and finds himself standing in Sam’s kitchen with Daniel and Teal’c.  He’s not – not really.  Okay, maybe about only being dressed in a towel.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s definitely embarrassed when he answers the door for pizza a few nights later and is face to face with General Hammond.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next day he’s off the mission roster for Sam’s rescue.  He fractures a bone in his hand when he slugs the metal lockers.

Janet tisks while she wraps him up; she warns him to take care of himself because Sam’s going to need him.

She may be right.  But maybe not.  So he tries not to think about it too much.

He still picks a fight in a bar later but he’s careful to not throw any right hooks.  The kid’s got three inches, thirty pounds and twenty fewer years on him and it feels good when he lays the kid out.

The barkeep calls him a cab rather than the cops but Jack walks home instead and collapses into Sam’s bed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He awakens in the middle of the night just to stumble into the bathroom and puke his guts out.  He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the scent of her that clings to the pillowcases.

But he always was able to hold his liquor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next day he changes her sheets, berates himself for being an idiot and vows not to step foot in her bedroom ever again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He starts to clean up his act a little after that – in public at least.  People still look at him like he’s unhinged but they don’t look scared of him anymore.  Sorry for him, sure, but not scared.  He knows he’s not acting much like anybody’s commanding officer these days – and especially not hers.

He sits at home and climbs the walls while two more rescue missions are conducted.  Mission failure.  Mission failure.

It’s no wonder people are treating him more like a grieving widower than anything else.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It takes him five weeks but Hammond’s finally looking at him like he’s got two feet firmly on the ground.  Nobody has asked if he’s still staying at Sam’s and he hasn’t volunteered the information – but he is.  He doesn’t venture any further down the hall than the spare bathroom, though.  He keeps the place up, he keeps the bills paid, and he shows up for work every morning.  If anybody has anything more to ask of him, though, he might lose it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And then the Tok’ra operative comes through again.  Most of Votan’s Jaffa have moved on. 

Jack pleads with the General in a way he’d never thought he’d do but somehow Hammond relents and Jack finds himself commanding a mission they’re only hoping at this point is rescue and not recovery.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When they find her she’s strung up but he thinks she’s breathing and he’s got about thirty good minutes before he breaks down.  While he contemplates his descent he hears conversation around him.

“Easy, we’ve got you now,” Janet soothes.

“I think there’s something wrong with her arms,” Daniel says as he crouches down next to her.  The way he averts his eyes makes Jack realize Daniel’s eyelevel with Sam’s naked breasts.  Then he realizes Sam’s completely naked.

Nobody else seems to notice, though, so Jack isn’t sure whether he should feel chivalrous or lecherous.  “She needs fluids,” Janet stresses.

“She _needs_ to be down from there,” and Jack hopes the edge in his voice reads as urgency rather than a struggle against his inner demons.

“I believe she is conscious,” Teal’c prompts and Jack’s eyes fly to Sam’s in time to see them slam closed. 

She’s conscious. She’s cognizant. He starts repeating it like an inner-mantra as they release her from the shackles that keep her hanging upside down.

“Her pulse is very weak.  She needs fluids immediately.  We’ll need a stretcher.” Janet says the last into the walkie-talkie on her shoulder and Jack remembers they’ve got rear-D up top.

“She going to be okay going through the gate?”  He’s not sure why he asks.  Hell if he’s leaving her behind again.

“She’ll have to be,” Janet responds in a way that makes him feel like an idiot.

“It is unwise to remain here any longer,” Teal’c says and Jack follows the big man’s line of sight but can’t hear whatever it is that piqued the Jaffa’s interest.

“Can you hear me?” Janet prompts Sam and inexplicably Sam nods.  “Good.  We’re going to move you now.”

Sam passes out when they pick her up and he amazed she held out as long as she did.  She looks just this side of death. 

But they made it.  They got her back.

And now he’s got about twenty-eight minutes until he completely loses his shit.

“Let’s move out.”

 

 


	15. Tertiary Emotion: Disgust

“Just stop it, okay?”

Jack realizes that while she phrases it like a question there no real room for argument.  That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try.  “I can’t just stop looking at you completely.”

“You can.  You will.  Or you’ll leave.”

“Carter, you’re being unreasonable.”

“Well, if anybody’s going to be unreasonable, I think I’ve earned the right, don’t you?” she asks waspishly.

“I think you’ve got the right to feel whatever you’re feeling.  But every now and again I’m going to look at you.  If only so I don’t run into you in the hallway.”

“Don’t be glib with me Jack O’Neill.  You’re not nearly as cute as you seem to think you are.  You know what I meant.”

“You mean you don’t want me to _see_ you when I look at you.”

“I don’t even want to have to see me right now.”

“There’s something I want you to understand.”  When she turns away from him and busies herself with straightening the folds in a used dishtowel he places a hand on her shoulder.   “Sam.  Look at me.”  She sighs deeply and turns to face him.  “Yes, you look different.  Considering what you’ve been through it would be shocking if you didn’t.  But everyday – even on the days you don’t change out of your sweats or comb your hair – the sight of you is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.  Because you’re here and you’re alive and I wasn’t sure both those things would ever be true again.  So believe what you like, but I’m not thinking what you think I’m thinking when I look at you.  Okay?”

“Okay,” she finally says after much consideration.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I’ve got a lot of weight left to gain back.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I want to gain it back healthily.”

“I want that, too.”

“No, Janet, _really_.  I can’t look like this anymore.  I need to look like me again.”

“Is this about health or vanity?”

“Is there something wrong with me if it’s about both?”

“No.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

“There are some protein powders and special dietary shakes I can give you.  But it’s mostly about healthy exercise and putting the right number of calories into your body.  It’s going to take a while, Sam.”

“How long?”

Janet’s heart breaks a little as she watches insecurity flash across her friend’s face.  “How long until what?”

“How long until I’m pretty again?”

“Oh, Sam—“

“He said I’m beautiful because I’m alive.  And I don’t want that to be the reason.”

“That’s a good reason, Sam,” and she doesn’t even have to ask which _he_ Sam might have been referring to.  Her live-in ex-CO, perhaps?

“Not a good enough reason, it isn’t.  I want him to look at me the way he used to.  I want him to look at me the way he wasn’t supposed to.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She’s taken to wearing some of his large sweatshirts that have migrated over to her house.  They are too large by half and have unattractive holes and fraying.  She seems to seek them out.  She seems to hide in them.  He contemplates buying her some more attractive outerwear but thinks the old sweatshirts aren’t just about warmth and the ability to hide in extra yardage but also, maybe, something about _him_.  Which feels kind of nice, all things considered.  All things being the tendency he has to come down on the bad side of her lately.  Not that ferreting out a good side has been altogether easy in recent days.  It seems like everybody and everything rubs her the wrong way.

He cooks dinner every night he’s on world and for the past few days she’s stood in the kitchen with him and used the blender to whip up one of the fancy weight-gaining shakes Janet gave her.  He’s not sure he likes how little food she eats once she sucks one down, but at least he knows she’s getting the necessary nutrients and anything she eats on top of the shakes is added calories – so he tries to cook healthily, despite his own habits and desires.  Sometimes, when he encounters her in the hallway in the middle of the night he’s momentarily taken aback by how frail she is.  And then he’s instantly reminded how far she’s come since her rescue.  He feels bad for a moment for thinking she looks bad now, but he realizes that while progress is important it’s still good to keep your eye on the prize, so to speak.  And he’s looking forward to the prize that is the return of her former figure.

Not that he’d even think of mentioning that to her.  He hadn’t lied when he told her she was beautiful just for being alive.  Hell, he thinks she’s beautiful all the time.  Always has.  But he can feel their relationship shifting – even if he created that shift artificially by simply moving in.  And he can’t help but hope that the shift will still be in play when she does have her figure back.  Because, after all, he’s just a man; and sometimes it’s fun to revel in those kinds of thoughts.  Especially when you’ve spent so long just being thankful that someone’s alive.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She doesn’t mention the shards of glass in her bedroom trashcan that used to be the face of the pretty gilt mirror she’d picked up at an antique shop in Alexandria back during her tenure at the Pentagon.  Nor does she mention the little crystal crumbles that were once her parent’s wedding toast glasses.  She knows he saw the begonias he’d planted that she’d ripped up and threw into the trashcan in the garage but he didn’t mention it and neither did she.

He doesn’t say anything when she walks into the kitchen one night and her hair is well past regulation-short.  He cracks a grin when he sees she’s ripped the sleeves off one of his old sweatshirts in deference to the milder spring days.  But they don’t talk about the little fractures that have become part and parcel of her life.  Things she’s made – or he’s made – part of his life as well.  He didn’t really sign on for all manner of hell, she supposes, but then again she’s practically riding along with the four horsemen these days so what, precisely, does he expect?

He overlooks beer bottles in the back yard, wet towels on the bathroom floor and the fact that he’s the only one who bothers to do laundry anymore – or dishes for that matter, and, more’s the pity, seems to overlook how desperately she’s crying out for contact.  She’s doing everything she can to push him; she’s doing everything she can to pull him to her.  He’s oblivious.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

“How’s that, Colonel O’Neill?”

Natalie studies him as he seems to collect his thoughts.  Things have been progressing with Sam about the way she expected: slowly, painfully and with at least as many steps back as steps forward.  It’s been three weeks since Sam walked in and declared herself ready for treatment and Natalie can’t say it hasn’t at least been interesting.  But while she’s experienced enough things in her career to predict how her patients may react she finds herself consistently flummoxed by their loved ones – perhaps because relationships are so complicated.  None of them are more so than whatever it is that the colonel and Sam are trying to juggle.

“I’m not sure exactly how much you know about what’s been going on and the truth is, Doc, I haven’t exactly been leveling with you.”

“About what, exactly?  That you’re living with Sam?  Or that you’re in love with her?  Or that she probably loves you, too – or at least she did before she was taken?  Or maybe that you’re letting her get away with working more hours than she’s cleared to?  Or maybe that she’s having caffeine and alcohol on top of her meds?”

“Wow, those are an awful lot of blind shots in the dark.”

“Even money says I’m right, though.”

“So I guess Carter’s really been talking to you.”

“She has.  You want to address any of those things?”

“She’s destroying things that really matter to her.”

“Like what?”

“She broke her parent’s wedding crystal.  Those two glasses have sat under the light in her china cabinet the whole time I’ve known her.  Then one day they weren’t there.  I found pieces of them in the trashcan.  Before that was the antique mirror that I thought was an accident.  I planted some flowers at the front of the house and she pulled them up.  Just days before she had sat out there and watered them and weeded and said how much she loved them…”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know.  She’s not acting like herself.”

“You mean she’s not acting like she acted _before_ she was held captive on Votan?”

“Well, of course she’s not.”

“And yet you find her behavior surprising?”

“Yes!”

“Why did the flowers upset you so much?”

“They didn’t.  Not really.  They were just flowers.”

“You sounded pretty upset.”

“They were just posies, Doc.  Don’t read too much into it.”

“I think they were more than that.  I think they were symbolic.  Colonel, you planted flowers for her.  You planted something in her garden that was going to grow into something beautiful.  She loved them.  She tended to them.  Then, in a fit of pique you didn’t see coming, she ruthlessly ripped up that beauty that you planted in her garden that was going to grow and threw it away.  She threw it away, Colonel.”

“They were just flowers, Doctor Jordan,” he says quietly.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They fight sometimes and she tells him to go.  Screams it at him, really.  He thinks she’s equal parts pissed and grateful when he simply closes himself inside the guestroom or disappears out to the garage.  He knows she’s trying to run him off to prove something to herself.  But he’s got something much more important to prove to her – even if she’s hell-bent on hurting him while he shows her.  In the mean time she’s taking the anger out on her house.  She’s slammed just about every door she owns.  He fixed the first two hinges and the first cracked jam.  After that he brought her the toolbox and set it down at her feet.

She fixed the door and came to him later with a cold beer and an apology.  Somewhere along the way he held her and she sobbed against his shoulder in a way she hadn’t in weeks.  

After the door slamming finally settles down – but only because she’d flat out broken her bedroom door and the whole thing needed to be replaced – is when it happens.  He just happens to pass by her bedroom while she stands in front of a full-length mirror dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans.  In a former life he probably would have been caught up by the reflection of her breasts but in the here and now he can’t take his eyes off the scars that crisscross her back.

He must say something or maybe he gasps because she looks up sharply and their eyes meet in the reflective glass.  He steps into the room and she doesn’t avert her gaze so neither does he.  Not until he’s within reaching distance, anyway.  But he keeps his arms resolutely by his sides.  He clenches his fists.  “I thought you had your dad heal you.”

“Those are from before.”

“Before the capture or before your rescue?”

“Votan’s Jaffa gave them to me,” she confirms.

When he reaches out to touch is when she realizes she’s naked.  She covers her breasts with her arms and drops her eyes but she doesn’t turn away from the fingers that he glides over the silvery scars.  

“I thought I asked you not to look at me.”

“And I told you you’re beautiful and now I’m telling you I’ll look at you if I damn well want to.  I know all this is hard for you, Sam, and I really want do whatever it takes to help you get better; but you seem to forget how hard this has been on the rest of us.  How hard this has been on _me_.  This happened to me too, Sam.”

She opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off.  “I don’t mean back then, Sam.  Yeah, bad shit happened to me back then but I’ve moved passed that.  I mean, what happened to you, the fact that you were missing and that I had something to do with that, _that_ happened to me.  And I need a little help dealing with it, too.  You know I don’t do too well with all that touchy-feely psycho crap.”  He waits for the corner of her mouth to tip up and he’s not disappointed.  “So I kind of think I’m going to need you.  And maybe you could need me too, a little.”

She’s quiet for a long time but finally she meet his eyes in the mirror again.  “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’d thought they were making progress.  And then, just a week later he comes home one night and the mirror in the entranceway is broken.  At first he thinks it’s an accident but then he sees the little one in the hallway between two old Carter family photographs.  Dread settles in the pit of his stomach.  Sure enough the huge mirror in the spare bathroom is a spider web of cracks.  In her bedroom the mirror on her dresser is broken in two by a large, diagonal crack.  The full-length mirror they’d stood in front of and shared something profound is overturned and cracked.

Cautiously he looks into her bathroom.  He finds more broken mirror along with broken woman.  She sits despondently on the floor.  She doesn’t cry.  She’s holding one palm-sized piece of mirror out in front of her and staring through her reflection.

He pulls her up by her elbow.  “C’mon.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere, Jack.”

He pauses over his first name.  The first time in a long time he can recollect hearing her use it to address him and he can’t even enjoy it.  “Too bad.”

“I’m sorry about the mirrors.”

“They’re your mirrors, Carter.”  He pulls her into the bedroom and sits her down on the edge of her bed.  He’s taking her to the base but he’ll be damned if he’s taking her dressed in nothing but a button down shirt that looks like it was his before she’d streaked it with the blood that was the byproduct of her apparent outburst.

She sits there and waits for him to turn a circle in her bedroom before deciding on a course of action.  He snatches jeans from her dresser and a one of his sweatshirts from the laundry basket on top of her chest of drawers.  She lets him thread her legs into her jeans and allows him to coax her to stand.  She doesn’t flinch when his hands brush against her belly to button her pants and she doesn’t blink when he unbuttons the shirt and pushes it off her arms.  He puts the sweatshirt on her in a way that makes him think of dressing Charlie and tears gather thickly at the back of his throat.  “You’ve got to see the docs.  Tonight, Carter.  We’re done with this, okay?”

“I really hate it here.”

“Earth?”  His blood runs cold while he waits for the answer.  He’s not sure what he’ll do if she answers in the affirmative.

“This house.”  He releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“That’s okay.  We’ve got another one we can go to.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No.”

“I’ve been breaking things.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to stop that.”

“I know.”

“Doctors.  Then home.”

“If I have to.”

“Tonight, you have to.”

“Doctors, then home,” she repeats.  She says it like a mantra as they move through the house collecting what they’ll need.  And then, it’s like a weight is lifted as soon as she’s buckled safely into the truck.  Halfway to the mountain she’s asleep and he turns up the Puccini flowing out of his speakers.  It’s beautiful and slightly haunting.  He embraces the familiar emotions and drives on.

 

 


	16. Tertiary Emotion: Resentment

Sam sits quietly brewing dark emotions while Janet places three careful stitches on the side of her hand below her pinky.  It’s not the stitches that irritate her but Janet’s incessant questions.

“How’d you do this to yourself?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, really, Sam – how’d you do it?”

Sam simply doesn’t answer the questions and Janet moves on to Jack.

“Where were you when she did this?”

“Do you know what happened?”

“I think we should keep her in the infirmary overnight,” Janet murmurs.  Then she apparently decides to leave it up to Jack, “ Do you want me to keep her?”

Her eyes fly to Jack’s.  He assesses her quickly and catalogues the emotions that must be clear on her face.  “Nope.  We’ll be fine at home.”

If Janet has any thoughts on the idea that the two of them are going to one home together she, thankfully, keeps them to herself.  Sam’s hardly dealt with the idea on her own and certainly isn’t prepared to justify her behavior to anyone else.  It’s bad enough people are aware.  She’s without capacity or desire to explain.

She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths.  She pictures the confused look on Jack’s face when he helped her up off the bathroom floor and then, later, out of her clothes.  She’s breaking him.  She knows she is.  She’s been intentionally hurting him though her reasons for doing so continue to shift.

When Janet finishes the stitches she issues an ointment along with her disappointed look.  The disappointment isn’t entirely unexpected.  Sam knows Janet has noticed the distance she's put between them and the doctor is both worried and wounded. Having someone you'd previously assert to be your best friend pull away was hard for anyone. The forced incarceration while recovering could be blamed originally, but no longer. Now Janet's just confused by the disconnection between the two of them and Sam knows she's nowhere near ready to fixing that divide.

If Sam had to put a fine point on it she’d probably say that she’s pulling back from any relationship that isn’t the one she has with Jack if for no other reason that she still feels like whatever it is they’re doing is terribly, completely, against-the-regs wrong.  She’s mad as hell that she feels that way because she knows that, technically, they’re in the clear.  Whatever happens _can_ happen.  Except – she’s not quite sure how she feels anymore.  It’s clear his feelings for her haven’t changed.  But she vacillates almost minute-to-minute between needing him in a way that frightens her and wishing he’d drop off the face of the earth and leave her alone for good.  Besides, she’s spent so long spitting out the old rhetoric that she’s actually started to believe it.

And anyway, when she needs him to be close and quiet, he prods and pushes to touch or talk.  He pokes and opens old sores.   And then, when she’s at her absolute worst, when she’s sure she’s done the thing that will drive him away for good, he pulls her close and holds her while she cries, or breathes or laughs maniacally.

She hates him for it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Natalie’s locking her office door when the Colonel and Sam appear.  She quickly notes the grave look on the Colonel’s face and the bandage on Sam’s hand and turns back towards her office beckoning them in.  She’s not surprised to see the Colonel accompany Sam to the conversational area of the office and she doesn’t object when he sits down.

Natalie sets her bags down and then joins them.  “I don’t normally treat patients when there are other people in the room.  Sam, is it okay to talk with Colonel O’Neill here?”

Sam nods.  But doesn’t lift her gaze from her lap.  

“Okay.  Why are you here this evening?”

“Sorry to have caught you so late, Doc,” the Colonel tries to object but she waves him off.

“It’s fine.  Really.  Erin’s out of town anyway.  No need to rush back to an empty house.”  She tries for a disarming smile.

Sam’s eyes snap up to meet Natalie’s.  “You’re married?”

“I am.”

“You hadn’t mentioned.”

“I’m not sure why I would have.”

“It’s just…whenever I complain about what it’s like to be living with someone again you always seem as if you can’t empathize.”

Natalie notes how the Colonel’s eyes lock on Sam’s face with a bit of hurt.  “I’m sorry you felt like I couldn’t empathize.  But your therapy is about you and your feelings.  It wouldn’t be fair for me to impress my own needs and desires onto you.  Nor the conditions of my own household, now that I think about it.”

“Oh.”

“So, what brings you here tonight?”

Colonel O’Neill clearly gives Sam a moment to answer but when she makes no move to her steps in.  “She broke all the mirrors in the house tonight.  Got three stitches for her efforts.”

“Wow.  Physically, are you okay?”

Sam holds up her hand and flashes an uncharacteristically easy smile.  “Yep.  Just three stitches, like he said.”

“How are you otherwise?”

Sam gives her a wry look and Natalie smiles in return.  “Okay, how about this instead: why’d you break all the mirrors?”

The slight smile drops off Sam’s face.  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Colonel O’Neill murmurs to Sam but Natalie thinks she hears him say, “Doctors, then home, remember?”  They must have made some sort of deal, she figures.  Louder he asks her, “Would you like me to go?”

She meets his eyes then and places a hand on his forearm.  After staring for a moment she shakes her head, takes a determined breath and turns back to Natalie.  “I can’t stand to look at myself anymore and I don’t know what to do about that.  I hate that I have to look at myself.  I hate that other people look at me because I can’t control what they see.  They’re either seeing the me I’m not anymore or they’re seeing me as I am now and neither one is okay.”

Natalie’s momentarily taken aback by the verbosity of Sam’s statement considering getting her talking had been more akin to pulling teeth since Natalie had taken her on as a client.

“You’re not comfortable with who you are now.  I get that.  Things are still pretty bad, yeah?”  Natalie waits and Sam nods.  “And what you want more than anything else is to go back to before any of this happened and to be that woman.  But you can’t be.  Right?  You can’t just undo what’s been done to you.  As awful as it was, it’s important.  It’s an integral part of who you are as a person now.”  Again, Sam nods in the pregnant pause.  “So having people see you as the old Sam, _treat_ you as her, is painful.  Because you want to be her again so badly but it isn’t going to happen.”

Natalie trains her eyes on Colonel O’Neill.  “But there are some people who don’t see the old you when they look at you.  They see the you of the here and now.”  The colonel bites his lip and steadfastly refuses to meet Natalie’s eyes.  “And it’s horrible.  It’s awful.  You _know_ what they’re seeing when they look at you, don’t you?”  

“You see me like I was when I was hanging in that cell,” Sam says quietly and Natalie is fascinated as the Colonel’s eyes snap over to Sam.

He struggles to swallow and visibly takes a moment to collect his thoughts and Natalie wonders if he’s going to lie to Sam.  “Yeah, Carter, I do.”  Sam meets the colonel’s eyes and Natalie can feel the heat of the fire from four feet away but she’s impressed with the colonel pushes on.  “I don’t want to, but I do.  You looked dead when we got there.  You were covered in blood and muck.  And then I saw you take a breath and it went from the one of the most terrifying sights of my life to,” he stops and takes a breath, clenches his fists the reaches out and strokes the delicate bones of her wrists with the side of his index finger before skipping the rest of that thought and forging ahead.  “Anyway, I said beautiful when I described you there before.  You didn’t believe and I’m not going to force it on you.  But watching you take a breath, Sam?  It absolutely saved my life and I’m not being melodramatic.  You know I don’t really do that crap.”

Sam’s eyes soften for half a heartbeat and then harden again.

“And now?  Now all you see are the scars.”

His jaw goes slack and his eyes widen until it looks like she’s slapped him and Natalie wonders precisely what happened between the two of them that such a statement would have a visceral effect on him.  

“That’s not true,” he says in a voice that makes the hairs on Natalie’s arms stand on end.  “Yes, I saw your scars.  But I saw the rest of you, too.”

“And it didn’t matter.”

“It mattered.  But some things matter more.   _You_ matter more.  More than that.  Always.”

“You know I might never—“

“I don’t care.”

Natalie is utterly fascinated and completely confused but she doesn’t dare interrupt what is apparently an open, honest and healing conversation between the two of them.

“Could you ever even—“

“I can.  I do.  Now.”

When tears spill out of Sam’s eyes, Colonel O’Neill cradles her face in his hands and wipes her tears away with his thumbs.  They look into each other’s eyes for a moment and then eventually Sam nods.

Jack gives her a crooked smile.  “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee.  Maybe check my inbox.  Come get me when you’re done.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”  He gets up.  “Thanks, doc.  See ya tomorrow.”

Natalie can’t help but feel like she’s just a bystander in her own office and he’s gone before she can even answer.

She slumps back into her chair just now realizing she’d literally been at the edge of her seat.  “Well.  Okay then.  What else you got?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack’s not altogether surprised to find Daniel and Teal’c sitting in the commissary.  He grabs a cup of coffee and sits down with them.

“How’s Sam?” Daniel asks before Jack can even get the cup halfway to his lips.

“She’s fine.”

Daniel looks at Jack askance, “She had to get stitches?”  

“How did you even know we were here?” Jack evades.

“It’s not exactly a big base, Jack.”

“Hasn’t anybody in this place ever heard about doctor-patient privilege?”

“Hey, Janet’s just worried about her friend.  Since when don’t we share information, anyway?”

Jack exhales with frustration.  “Sam should be allowed to have some privacy with this, guys..”

“Yeah?  Is that what you’re giving her?”  Daniel throws his hands up and crooks his index and middle fingers, “Privacy?”

“I’ve had a long night and I don’t want to hit you, Daniel.  But I will.”

“Your implication was offensive Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c interjects and Jack sees steel in the older man’s eyes.  It’s nice to know he wasn’t the only one upset by Daniel’s insinuation.

“Oh, please,” Daniel says in anger.  “He keeps her from us.  He’s moved into her house.  How long before he moves into her bed?”

“It wouldn’t be any of your business if I had,” Jack grinds out.  “What’s between me and Sam is just that – between us.  I don’t need your approval.  I damn sure don’t need your permission.  And neither does she.”

And even though he half understands what has Daniel’s back up he’s not really sure where the outrage is coming from.  It’s not like his staying with Sam is anything new.  He’s certainly not been saying anything to anybody about sleeping with her. Not just because he hasn’t been but also because he’s not that kind of guy anyway.  He’d have thought the guy he considers his closest friend would know that.  So even as he wills his fists into unclenching, he finds himself taking deep breaths and hoping for a little perspective.

“You’re seriously out of line Daniel.  You’d better have a damn good reason.”

While Daniel waxes poetic about the recent machinations of the rumor mill, Jack sips coffee feeling his blood pressure rise.

“I’m going to tell the two of you this and after that I don’t want to hear anything anybody else is saying because I just don’t give a damn.  What happens between Sam and me is between the two of us.  Period.  I’d remind you that I haven’t made a habit of lying to you and neither has she.”

“But do you really think now’s the right time to start a relationship with her?”

“What makes you think we’re _starting_ anything, Daniel?”  He pushes away from the table and ignores Daniel’s further questions.  He told Sam he’d be in his office; he really thinks he ought to be there.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s after midnight when he leads Sam through his front door.  He drops her bag by the front door – she can decide where she wants to spend the night.  She’s been over enough to know where the spare room is if that’s what she wants.  Hell, he remembers one particularly raucous party that eventually had seen her swathed in three layers of sleeping bag and passed out in the old hammock out back.  Anyway, he’s not pushing.  

She walks around slowly and looks things over.  He’s suddenly embarrassed by how apparent it is that he hasn’t really lived here in a while.  But an hour later she’s got every light on in the house, laundry going and a dust rag in her hand.  He sits at the dining room table with a cup of coffee and doesn’t try very hard not to smirk at her whirling dervish routine.

“What?” she asks with a scowl when he catches her eye on a trip between the cleaners under the kitchen sink and whatever-the-hell she’s trying to clean in the living room.

“You know you’re crazy, right?”

“This place is a disaster, Jack.”

He just smirks harder and takes a sip of his coffee while she huffs and stalks  off.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Later, she brushes her teeth self-consciously as he stands in the doorway of the spare bathroom.  “What?” she finally asks around a mouthful of toothbrush and toothpaste.

“You know what I meant earlier, right?”

She spits.  “When?”

“In Natalie’s office.”

“Which part?”

“The part when I said I saw you.  I saw all of you Sam - not just the parts you wanted me to see.”

She kills some time by rinsing then wiping all the water droplets off the sink and countertop.  “Would it have killed you to say something?

“I kind of thought _you_ ’ _d_ kill me if I brought up your,” he gestures in the general direction of her breasts and she smirks.

“I’m unpredictable.”

He grins.  “You are.”

He turns to go but she stops him.  “Thanks for tonight.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for everything,” she says shaking off the levity of their short conversation.

“Thanks for being alive when I showed up to get you.”

She bites her lip and blinks back tears but offers him a slight smile and a nod.  He taps his fist against the doorframe a couple of times in some sort of secret male code.  He shoots her a wink and he’s halfway down the hall before she realizes she’s grinning like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve finally determined that this story hijacks season 5. Canon applies up through the end of Season 4; this mission would have taken place during summer hiatus. Because season 4 ends with Double Jeopardy and Exodus and then season 5 begins with 2 more episodes that make a 4 episode continuous arc, it’s probably easiest to assume that those events never happened, and therefore and for our purposes in this story, season 4 shall have effectively ended after entity. However, this is academic as none of that will likely have any bearing on the story. Okay, perhaps Entity, because how could I write this story and not at least go there a little?
> 
> If you're still lost, check out the first chapter for a link to the Timeline. It includes spoilers for the rest of this story, relevant canon details, and salient points from companion pieces.


	17. Secondary Emotion: Torment

They’re sitting on the mats in the gym after a workout that was punishing in its intensity when she finds the courage to ask, “How do you live with it?

“With what, Major Carter?”

“The things you did in Apophis’ name?”

Teal’c is quiet so long that she begins to feel heartless for asking him a question to which there is only one correct answer. “I do not live with it. I am aware of what I have done. I am conscious of it. But while that knowledge endures, I do not dwell upon it.”

“How do you put something so awful out of your mind?”

“It is not possible to live a productive life if we focus on our mistakes and misfortunes. I choose to let that experience be a part of the past that helped me choose a different future.”

“Do you think I can choose a different future?”

He takes several deep breaths and bends deeply through a stretch. “I think it is a very different situation for you.”

“But do you think I can?”

“I think you must.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How’s the tough case coming along?”

Natalie takes a deep breath, digs her toes into the cooler parts of the sheets and turns further into Erin’s embrace. “I don’t speak her language. I’m not sure I’m actually helping her at all. I feel like I’m relegated to the side lines whenever any of the others are around.”

“If the usual methods aren’t working, you have to try something else. She deserves your help, Nat. You’re good at what you do. You can help her.”

“She doesn’t need me.”

“Do you mean you or do you mean treatment?”

“I don’t know.” She breathes deeply and pulls the soft scent of the Jasmine lotion that Erin put on after her shower deep into her lungs. “Maybe me.”

“If she doesn’t have you, what does she have?”

“She has her,” Natalie pauses while she considers the best way to describe Colonel O’Neill but finally decides less is more as she protects Sam, “she has someone.”

“Is that enough?”

“Maybe for her it is.”

“You should hang in there until you know for sure.”

“I should.” Natalie means it like a statement but she thinks it sounds like a question.

“It’s not like you to be so insecure.”

“I don’t know if I can do this job.”

“Of course you can. You’ve never backed down from a challenge before. And on the days you don’t see this patient you come home like you’ve slayed the dragon. You’ll slay this one, too.”

“You know that’s not really up to me.”

“You’re a good therapist, Nat, and you’re a good doctor. You’ll figure this out.”

“For her sake, I hope that’s true.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I screwed up,” Daniel says as he finishes drying a dinner plate and hands it over.

“How?”

“I confronted Jack about his relationship with Sam. I might have implied he was insinuating himself where he shouldn’t.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” He contemplates the soapy dishwater for a moment. “Also, he knows you sometimes share information about Sam’s recovery with me that you shouldn’t.”

“Oh,” Janet says. “Did you tell him why?”

“I told him we’ve all always shared information.”

“But not that we – “

“No.”

“Why not?”

“With everything that’s been going on, with the way things are between him and Sam – not to mention the things I said, I didn’t think it would be good to point out that we...you know.”

“Don’t live with our heads up our assess?”

He quirks a grin at her. “I wouldn’t have put it like that, but yeah.”

“It was a lot easier for us. We didn’t have the same hurdles they did. The same hurdles they still do.”

“I know.”

“Then cut him some slack, okay? And apologize.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I owe you an apology.”

Jack looks up from the paperwork on his desk and gives Daniel a once over. The man looks contrite enough. “Yeah. You do.”

“I didn’t really mean what I said.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Daniel sighs and sinks heavily into a visitor’s chair. “Yes. I did.”

“The fuck, Daniel?”

Daniel flinches at the crude language Jack knows he hates – that is, of course, the main reason he used it. “I’m worried about her.”

“We’re all worried about her.”

“And I’m not sure she’s made enough progress to be worrying about being in a relationship you two have avoided like the plague for a long time now.”

Jack pushes back into his chair and leans back enough to feign nonchalance. “Until a few months ago she was a subordinate officer.”

“Isn’t she still a subordinate officer?”

“Yes,” Jack concedes, “but she’s no longer in my chain of command. If she and I decide to change the nature of our relationship we won’t be doing anything wrong.”

“If?”

“Yeah. _If_.”

Daniel exhales. “Why’d she have to get stitches?”

Jack studies the younger man and wonders exactly how much is his to tell. He figures he can play this one of two ways – either Daniel’s his friend and confidante and he talks about the things that are plaguing him about the demons inside the woman he loves or  
Daniel’s just some guy he works with that he’s sometimes friendly with and Jack sends him off to get whatever information he can straight from the source.

“She’s not doing so hot, Danny,” Jack finally decides to confide.

“What happened?”

“She broke all the mirrors in her house.” Jack scrubs a hand over his face and tries to forget the look on her face when he pulled her off her bathroom floor two nights ago. And also that he hasn’t slept since then for fear she’ll try the same thing at his place after  
another bad moment.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know what we can do. Be there?”

“That’s your plan? Be there?”

“It’s a pretty damn good plan.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“No, it doesn’t.” And that’s the rub of it. It doesn’t feel like enough because it isn’t enough. But it’s all he can do.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“The Goa’uld have something we call pain sticks. Imagine a cattle prod with two big prongs like a barbeque fork. And imagine an arc of electricity that rivals the energy burst from the zat we showed you a couple of weeks ago. Then imagine that those prongs were pushed into your skin. And that the outpouring of energy was so huge that it had nowhere to go but out of you through your open orifices. And then understand that they don’t just touch it to you once – not when they want to torture you.”

Natalie’s stomach twists and flops and she’s suddenly certain she’s going to vomit.

“So they hold the pain stick to you until every part of you is seizing and you can’t control your tears or your bladder or your vocal chords. So you’re covered in your own fluids and your throat is raw. Then they take the pain stick away and for a brief moment you’re sure you’re dead because it feels so much better when the energy stops. But in the span of a heartbeat your nerves catch up and the pain races up to your brain and then flares out to your fingertips.

“And now it’s like you’re on fire. You’re burning from the inside out. You’re sure you can feel your muscles liquefying and your skin sloughing off against the abrasive clay floor.”

Natalie presses her eyes closed and hopes Sam doesn’t see the tears that have accumulated there. She’s supposed to be detached, after all. Clinical.

“The Jaffa wear naquadah boots. That’s a super-dense metal. They kick at you, hit you, take relish in the sound of your bones as they break. So now imagine that it feels like your soft tissues are melting and someone is macerating your flesh with a metal pestle against a gritty mortar. And that treatment, as awful as it sounds, isn’t nearly as sadistic as your tormentors are going to get. That the scent of your urine is what carries them home on the wings of a job well done. That they go home and fuck their wives with your blood on their faces.

“And then imagine that they’ll do that to you twice a day for weeks and the only thing they’ll trade that for is the ability to do the same thing to the inside of you.”

  
Unable to further quell the urge to be sick, Natalie excuses herself with half phrases and mumbled curses. A few biting words from Sam follow her out the door, “Yeah, well, you asked.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Three days after her last session with Natalie, Jack’s concerned that Sam’s still not talking. Not just about the session but about anything. She flat out ignores even direct questions. She won’t go near the stove and when he took over the dishes the night before he noticed the water was tepid at best. She’s washing clothes in cold water and the dryer is set to the no-heat fluff cycle. It’s still cold at night but the electric blanket he gave her sits folded on the trunk at the foot of the guest bed despite the fact that she turns the heat off at night.

The quiet is disconcerting enough but her sudden aversion to both heat and comfort are down right screwing with his head. Or maybe that’s the lack of sleep. Either the way the combination has him clinging to the edges of sanity.

When she makes it to yet another bed time without saying a word he decides it’s time to force the issue. He snags her hand when she walks by him and he pulls on her until she’s forced to stand in front of him where he sits on the couch. “Sam,” he starts and finds he doesn’t have the words to continue. Any semblance he had of an ability to draw the right words together is lost when he looks into her eyes and sees the pain there.

“Sam?”

“Please don’t make me,” she says as her chin trembles and tears spill over onto her cheeks.

“I don’t want to. I’m going to. We need to talk about it.”

He spends a few minutes searching her eyes and running his calloused fingers over the scars on her wrists. She alternates between meeting his eyes with a pained expression that practically begs to talk and then dropping his gaze as if it’s all become too much. When she seems to spend more time focused on their hands or his face than she does on the carpet, he suggests a pot of coffee, a few sleeping bags and some time in the old hammock she long ago developed and affinity for. It’s too cold and he’s too old, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to deny her something that might get her talking.

She starts by confessing her macabre rehashing of events to Natalie and how she feels awful for going about sharing that information in the way she did. When he nods in understanding his whisker stubble catches the hairs on the crown of her head.

They’d poured some of the coffee into one tall coffee mug that he’d long ago gotten as part of a gift set from someone who never really knew him and they pass it back and forth as she recounts precisely what she said to Natalie and he tries hard to make sure she can’t feel him wince. But as she’s all but sitting in his lap he’s pretty sure he’s not hiding from her. Not tonight. But she’s not hiding from him either. So that’s okay.

Then she says rape in the hushed tones she hadn’t bothered with months ago and starts telling him about the sodomy that both preceded and followed the actual act. She describes uses for Goa’uld pain sticks that had previously only existed in the nightmarish parts of his psyche. She talks about being chained to a wall and made to accept what was given in any way it was given. She talks until they empty the thermos he’d carried outside of the rest of the pot’s worth of coffee they’d made.

He reassures her of so many things until they have to pull the several layers of sleeping bags up to their ears.

  
Hours later he watches the sun rise and traces her spine through her sweatshirt and revels in her moist breath against his neck as she pants through bad dreams.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning she awakens alone in the hammock. She surprised to find the sun so high in the sky and realizes it must be approaching noon. She makes her way into the house feeling off balance and unsure of everything she’d shared with Jack the night before. She’s been stripped bare in a way she hadn’t even felt while she’d been captive on Votan. She told him things she swore she’d never tell anyone. In return she’d accepted assurances and declarations she never felt she deserved – even before her captivity.

She makes her way down the hall to the guest bath but is stopped when she encounters a shirtless Jack O’Neill in the hallway. He appears startled as well but all she can focus on is the heat that blooms in her belly when she sees him. She’s struck dumb by a flash of arousal she doesn’t feel entitled to. Most certainly it’s a feeling she’s not currently equipped to handle. She catches his eye in the moment before she turns to run and she watches realization dawn over his face. His mouth drops open but she’s gone before he can speak.


	18. Primary Emotion: Anger

He doesn’t want to waste time bothering with a shirt, but he saw the way her eyes had gone wide at the sight of his bare chest just moments after a pretty flush stained her cheeks.  He’s been a man a damn long time – he knows what that look was in the split second before her panic.  So, he spares a half-minute to return down the hall for his t-shirt before following her out the sliding glass doors and towards the woods he think she probably disappeared into.

He stands at the edge of his yard in bare feet and shouts after her, “Sam!”

He can hear the snap and crackle of twigs and leaves beneath her feet and thanks goodness that while she did flee she wasn’t exactly beating a hasty retreat.  “Sam?  Can you come out here, please?”

He shakes his head feeling like an idiot.  “Sam, c’mon.  I’m not wearing any shoes.  Don’t make me come in there.”  The footsteps stop.  “I’m dressed.”  After a moment he hears footsteps again.  They’re a little slower now, but definitely moving toward him. 

When she appears she looks both nervous and embarrassed.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly unexpected, was it?” he says with a crooked smile.  And that’s when she starts yelling.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I yelled at my commanding officer for _not wearing a shirt_ ,” Sam moans after burying her face in her hands.

Natalie tries not to laugh but manages only to dial it back to a chuckle.  “Sam.”

Sam shakes her head but doesn’t look up.

“Sam, you yelled at _Jack_.”

“I know,” Sam wails.

“No, Sam,” Natalie says in her best teacher’s voice and Sam looks up, “I mean, you didn’t yell at your commanding officer.  You yelled at Jack.”

Sam looks shocked for a moment and then she slumps back into the couch with the revelation.  “He’s not my commanding officer right now.”

Natalie waves that off.  “That’s not even the important part.”

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve got to start separating the man from the uniform, Sam.  The relationship you’ve had with Jack for the past several months doesn’t have anything to do with the relationship you had with Colonel O’Neill for the past several years.  You’ll be doing both of you a favor if you don’t make them interchangeable in your head.”

When Sam doesn’t say anything Natalie moves on.  They can make progress on that front another day.  “How’re things going at home?  How’s the hand?”

“It’s only been four days.”

“Does that make the questions irrelevant?”

“No.”

“So, how’re things going at home?  How’s the hand?”

Sam sighs.  “My hand’s fine.  The stitches will come out in about a week.  You know we’re staying at Jack’s now?  Because of the mirrors.”

“Yeah.  How’re you doing with the mirrors?”

“Mostly, I avoid them.”

“How’re you doing with Jack?”

“I don’t avoid him.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m really angry.”

“At him?”

Sam wrings her hands.  “Yes.  A little.  Maybe.  Only about some things.”  She says it all so fast Natalie can’t imagine what that must have felt like inside her head.

“Things like sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt?”

Sam starts to shrug but then stops with a wide-eyed look on her face.  “Actually, he’s pretty careful to be dressed,” she says with slow suspicion.

“That sounds okay considering your response to his being shirtless.”

“No, that’s not like him.”

“So he’s not all that modest?”

“Well, no.  We’re in the military.  It’s pretty hard to maintain a lot of modesty,” but Sam waves off that line of thought.  “Wait a minute, I’m angry about something,” but she pauses like she’s not sure about what, exactly.  She stews a moment and then, with vigor, “He’s mollycoddling me!”

Natalie swallows back a guffaw at Sam’s choice of words.  “ _Mollycoddling_ you?”

“He’s walking on eggshells trying not to provoke me.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It’s _so_ not Jack.”

“He cares about you.  About how you’re feeling.  It’s not outside the realm of possibility that he’d be protective.”

“Well, yeah, but even _I_ didn’t expect those feelings.”

“Which feelings?”

“The ones I got when I saw him in the hall.”

“What did you feel?”

Sam blushes a vivid pink and presses her lips tightly together.

“Sam, it’s okay.  Whatever you felt, it’s okay.”

Sam shakes her head.

“It’d really help if you said it out loud.”

“We both know what I felt.”

“It’s okay to feel however you felt.”

Sam shakes her head again.  “No.  It’s not.”

“Desire is a perfectly acceptable response.”

“Not from me, it’s not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it.”  And just like that the fear, the anguish, the embarrassment…it’s all replaced with a seething black anger that shadows Sam’s face.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not blameless.”

“What do you mean?”

And then Sam reveals something Natalie already knows because it had brought Colonel Jack O’Neill to tears when he’d repeated it during his own session, but having heard it once before doesn’t really prepare her for the anguish in Sam’s voice when she says, “Because I begged more than one of them for sex.”

“You didn’t,” Natalie objects.

“I did,” Sam counters.

“A choice between two awful things isn’t a choice.  Choosing intercourse over near fatal beatings makes that intercourse rape, Sam, not sex.  It doesn’t make you undeserving of a sex life later on if that’s what you want.  It certainly doesn’t mean you don’t ever deserve to feel desire or arousal ever again.”

“What kind of man could want me?”

“You think Jack doesn’t want you?”

“He wouldn’t if he really thought about what happened to me.”

“Outside you, Sam, I don’t think anyone has thought harder about what happened to you than he has.”

“Then no, I don’t think he could want me.”

“Before all of this, did knowing what happened to him in Iraq make you want _him_ any less?”

“He was my commanding officer, I didn’t want him at all.”

“Lying to me doesn’t help you.  And we both know that isn’t true.”

Sam doesn’t say a word; she just storms out of Natalie’s office.  She slams the door so hard behind her when she goes that a picture slips off its hook and slides precariously down the wall.  The glass breaks when it hits the floor and Natalie starts at the sound.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“She looked at me like I was …ah, a man.”  He shifts his eyes downward and grasps the back of his neck as he blushes.  “You know, in the good way.”  Then he swallows and seems to shore up his resolve, and Natalie has to give him credit for reestablishing eye contact.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that she thinks about you sexually?”

A lazy grin spreads across his face.  “Hell no, doc.  It makes uncomfortable talking about it.”

“But then she ran.”

The grin falters and a shadow darkens his eyes.  “Yeah.”

“Why do you think she did that?”

“Isn’t that sorta your department?”

“Humor me.”

His gaze turns steely in a way that tells her he hates having to answer the question.  He does it anyway.  “I think a lot of bad things happened to her.  I think more than one individual in a position of authority raped her.  I think she equates power with pain.  And I think she equates me with power.”

Natalie nods.  “Several kinds, as a matter of fact.”  She pauses and takes a sip of water just to give him a chance to absorb that before moving on.  “Neither one of you are doing a very good job separating the individual from the officer.”

“Look, you’ve gotta know, Carter and I haven’t talked about this.  We’re just, sorta…doing it.  Not _it_ it,” he rushes to supply.  “But being together.  It just…is.”

“Is that what _it_ is?  You’re together?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.  “I mean, that’s what it is for me.  I’m all in.  Whatever she needs.  Whatever she wants.”

“You should talk about it, you know,” she says and he shrugs.  “What if she doesn’t need you?  Doesn’t want you?”

He’s silent for a moment.  “Well, then I guess I’d have to convince her she’s wrong.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Jack walks into Janet’s office, it’s just in time to see Daniel brace one hand against her desk and lean down to press a heated kiss against her lips.  When the two part, Janet is flushed and smiling happily. 

“Tonight?” Daniel asks and Janet tosses him a wink.

When he turns comes face to face with Jack.  He stops for a half a moment, flicks his eyes towards Janet, and strides forward.  “Jack,” he says with a nod.   Then he’s gone.

“Be right back,” Jack lobs at Janet then takes off after Daniel.

“Wait a minute,” he calls to his friend’s retreating form.  “Daniel!”

He jogs a couple of step until he’s right beside the younger man.  “Are you serious?”

“About what?” Daniel detours into the commissary and grabs an apple off a cart of fruit.

“The accusations you’ve been hurtling my way for _weeks_ about hiding a relationship with Sam and you’re, what, screwing the chief medical officer?”

Daniel whirls on him.  “Hey!  I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I don’t think I like your sanctimonious double standards.”

“Janet wasn’t just rescued from a Goa’uld prison.  Besides, I apologized,” Daniel wheedles.

“How long?”

“Since you broke your hand.”

“Wow.  That’s…quite a while.”

“Yeah.”

“So.”

“So…” Daniel leads.

“Well.  Congratulations.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

Jack grins.  “Yeah, that’s it.”  He turns to leave but pauses at the door and looks back over his shoulder.  “You see how easy that was?” Jack’s grin turns icy.  “Remember that.  You might be on the other side of that conversation one day.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I saw something today that you might find interesting,” Jack says with a smirk as he chops vegetables and she dumps a scoop of protein powder into the blender.

This is the part about living with someone she doesn’t like and, moreover, doesn’t really remember how to do.  She’s mad at him.  Really, _really_ , mad at him – though probably unrightfully so.  And he wants to talk about something trivial like nothing’s wrong?  Has he forgotten how she laid into him this morning?  Isn’t he mad at _her_?

He sighs and when she chances a look at his face she realizes he has, indeed, read her silence as lingering anger rather than confusion.  Well, that solves that, she supposes.  “Are you really so mad at me that you don’t want the juicy gossip?”

Juicy gossip?  Well, she could do with a little of that.  It’s been a long time since she’s been interested in idle passings and longer still since there’s been any juicy gossip to be had.  On one hand, if she gives in and gets the salacious details, how is she supposed to revert back to angry without seeming shrewish?  On the other hand, she _is_ sort of mad at Jack for something that’s not his fault.  She _could_ let him off the hook and get the gossip.

Then his fingers curl around the back of her neck and he’s maneuvering her so they’re face to face.  “Sam.”

She waits but he doesn’t continue.  Instead there’s a sad look in his eyes.  “Jack?”

He sighs and takes a half step closer to her.  He’s in her personal space and he’s got a grip on her and she can feel something akin to panic scratch at the edges of her insides.  Instinctively she reaches up and plants her palms against his chest and pushes.  Hard.  He stumbles back a little.  “What are you doing?!?” she hisses.

A shocked look crosses his face.  “Jesus, Sam.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t think—“

“No, you didn’t!” she cuts him off with a shout.  “You can’t do that to me.”

“I didn’t know,” he says with hurt in his voice as if she accused him of doing it on purpose.

But now she’s really in touch with her anger from this morning again.  “Don’t touch me.”

“I touch you all the time.”

“Don’t touch me like that.”

“Okay.”

But his easy acquiescence just irks her further.  “And don’t walk around the house naked!”

“I didn’t,” he points out unnecessarily.  “And I thought you were outside when I walked into the hall this morning.”

“Do you know what seeing you like that does to me?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “Do you?”

“What?”

“Well, yeah I know what it did to you.  Why are you mad at me for that?  Not being ready isn’t my fault, Sam.  So is it that you’re mad because you’re embarrassed because I know what it did to you, or are you mad because you were turned on in the first place?  Because that’s not my fault either.”

“How can you just talk about things like that?”

And then he takes his life in his own hands and she’s got to give him a little credit for that, at least.  He reaches back toward her and lays his hand on the place where her shoulder turns into her neck and runs his thumb lightly up and down the tendon that’s straining with her anger.  “Because it’s okay, Sam.  It’s okay if you’re turned on.  It’s okay if I know.  It’s okay if we talk about it.  There’s no pressure here.  No pressure to feel something you’re not feeling or to not feel something you are feeling.  And certainly no pressure to act on anything.”

And there it is.  He really _doesn’t_ care if she’s turned on by him because he doesn’t want her anymore.  She shakes off his hand and flees to guestroom she’d appropriated as her own.  A loud thump followed by a curse comes from the direction of the kitchen.  His patience with her, it would seem, is wearing thin. 

She flops onto the bed ready to commit to a night of staring at the ceiling.  Twenty minutes later she hears the engine of his big truck roar to life.  She starts putting the planets in the SGC database in order by median observed temperature and hopes to keep her mind mostly quiet.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Daniel swings the door open to find a sheepish Jack O’Neill on the other side holding one hand cautiously against his body.

“I’m guessing you’re not here to see me,” he says with a lopsided smile and steps back so Jack can step into Janet’s living room.

Jack looks amused when Janet steps into the living room in bare feet with a dish towel flung over one shoulder. 

“Colonel O’Neill!”

“Hiya, Doc.  I need you to patch me up and then go see Sam.”

“Patch you up?” Daniel watches as his girlfriend shifts from the soft woman with whom he’d just been cooking dinner to the in-command CMO he’s used to dealing with on base – all without donning a lab coat (or shoes).  And it’s pretty damn sexy.

“Damn it; I think you re-broke it.”  She gestures towards the couch then looks over her shoulder at Daniel. “Can you get the white kit out of my bathroom, please?”

Daniel retrieves the first aid kit as requested and when he returns it’s clear he’s missed the ‘what happened?’ portion of the conversation because Janet’s replying, “I don’t know if I’m the best person for the job, Colonel.”

“She needs a friend right now.”

“Like I said…”

“She’s having problems reconnecting with everybody.”

“She’s been outright avoiding me, Colonel,” Janet says quietly.

“Janet,” Jack starts and Daniel looks up abruptly – he can’t ever remember hearing Jack use her given name, “please.  I need your help.  She won’t talk to me about this.  Not right now.”

Janet prods at Jack’s hand gently but he still hisses in pain.  “Yeah, it’s definitely broken.”

“If I promise to make Daniel take me to the ER, will you go talk to her?”

“Hey, how did I get dragged into this?”

“Daniel,” Janet says in a voice she hasn’t used on him since before they were sleeping together and he takes it as a warning.

He raises his hands in supplication.  “Two stupid men going to the ER.”  He pulls her up off the couch and into a hug so he can whisper into her ear, “Don’t let her bully you too much, okay?  It’s been long enough.”

Janet kisses him once on the mouth, hard, and then pulls his head down so she can kiss his temple.  She turns back to Jack, “Deal.”

“Need anything while I’m out?” he asks just so she knows they’re still spending the night together when they’ve done their respective duties.

“No.  And Colonel, let him drive, okay?”

To Daniel’s surprise, Jack hands over the keys without any argument.  They’re only minutes down the road when the silence – and curiosity – get the better of him.  “What happened?”

“I broke my hand.”

“I know _that_.”

Jack heaves an aggrieved sigh.  “Sam and I had an…argument…and I hit the countertop.”

“Jack!  Don’t you think she’s been through enough without you scaring her by getting violent around her?”

“For crying out loud, Daniel, what do you take me for?  She wasn’t even in the room when I did it.  And it’s not like I meant to hit the countertop hard enough to break my hand.”

The two ride in silence for a few minutes more.  “When did we stop being friends?” Daniel finally asks because he knows Jack isn’t going to broach the subject.

“What?”

“We used to talk about things.  Now it’s just revelations and arguments.  You feel like I don’t trust you and I kind of don’t.  I want to know how that happened.”

At a stop light, Daniel turns to face him and is taken aback by the thoughtful look on Jack’s face where he thought he’d see distaste for the subject matter.  But then Jack turns to look out the window and Daniel watches how the red traffic light cuts a swath against a more-defined-than-normal cheekbone and Daniel realizes that Jack’s not holding up as well as he’d like people to think and if anyone’s at fault for their changing relationship it’s Daniel himself.

“I made you deal with it alone,” Daniel realizes aloud.

Jack just grunts non-committedly.

“I did,” Daniel insists.  The light turns green and Daniel applies a little pressure to the gas pedal.  “I felt guilty, you know?”

“We all did.”

“But it was worse for you.”  Daniel is sure he’s going to deny it.  He watches out of the corner of his eye as the muscles in Jack’s jaw tense then release. 

“Yeah.  It was.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 “You broke your hand?” she asks unnecessarily when he walks through the front door.  She’s sitting against the wall there on the floor.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“And then you sent Janet over here to talk to me because you, what?  Thought maybe it’s just that I didn’t want to discuss something _incredibly embarrassing_ with you but that I’d be okay discussing it with someone else?”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything to her about what you were upset about.”

“You broke your hand?” she asks again, only this time it’s with more concern and she pushes herself up off the floor so she can take his bandaged hand gently in hers.

“Just a little bit.”

“Jack,” she admonishes him in a soft voice that makes him tingle in the wake of that look she gave him in the hall.

He threads the fingers of his good hand into her hair and pulls her against his chest into a hug and he relaxes when he feels her arms wind around his rib cage.  “I’m glad you weren’t serious about not touching you.”

“I was serious about not touching me the way you did earlier.  I don’t know why, but that wasn’t okay.”

“It’s okay,” he soothes as he tucks his face into her neck.

“And I’ve been really careful not to say or do something that might make you uncomfortable.  I swear I thought you were still asleep outside or I’d have put on a shirt.”

“I didn’t know I’d feel that way.”

“Sam, I know we’ve done a really good job of not talking about it, but we’ve… _felt things_ …  It would be strange if physical attraction wasn’t one of ‘em.”

“No,” she huffs and buries her face in the hollow of his shoulder, “I mean my reaction to the… _attraction_.”

“I was serious when I said I didn’t care if you never felt like…”

She stiffens against him.

“Hey?  What’s wrong?”

She pushes against his chest and he wars with whether or not he should hold her tighter or let her go.  He errs on the side of caution and releases her.   Her eyes flick between hurt and angry.  “What did I say?”

“You don’t have to keep pointing it out, you know?”

“What?”

“That it’s one sided.”

“That _what’s_ one sided?”

“The _attraction_ ,” she spits.  All the traces of the soft, warm woman he’d held in his arms moments ago are gone.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I get it.  You don’t want me anymore. Not like that.”

“Again, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t care if I never feel like being intimate again?  There’s ‘no pressure to act on anything’?” She flings his words back at him.

“What are you accusing me of?  Because the way I see it, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.  For crying out loud, Sam!  Of course I want you!  _You_.  However you come.  But what kind of man would I be if I pressured you into something after everything you’ve been through?”

“What kind of man wants a woman he might never have a sexual relationship with?”

“Okay, now I really don’t like what it sounds like you’re accusing me of.”

She just stands there, breathing heavily.

“Doc Jordan said we should talk about what we’re doing here.  I think she’s right.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t want to talk about anything, Sam.  It’s not okay anymore.  You need to keep talking to the doc about what happened to you.  And you need to talk to me about how you’re feeling about all of this,” he gestures to the empty space between them, “because I sure as hell shouldn’t be guessing.  I’m really bad at it.”

She huffs out a laugh.  “I’m not any better.”

“No, I think we’ve cornered the market on not talking about it.”

“Did you eat?” she asks him.

“Not unless you count the half a vending machine tuna fish sandwich Daniel tried to make me eat.”

“Daniel went with you to the hospital?”

“Yeah.  Janet made him drive me.”

“Janet?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin.

“You went all the way to the base but she made you go to the hospital so she could come here?”

“No, I went to her house.” His grin widens as he watches the pieces start to fall into place.

“And Daniel was there?”

“Yep.”

She tilts her head to the side as she furrows her brows.  “Wait a minute.”

“Uh-huh,” his grin becomes a smirk.

“Are you trying to tell me—“

“Oh, yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“How long has that been going on?”

He slings his arm around her shoulder and steers her towards the kitchen.  “Since I broke my hand the first time.”

“Oh.”  As they cross the threshold to the kitchen, “The first time?!?”


	19. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we go back again, this time for Sam's capture.

**Part IV: Surprise**

She licks her lips as her gaze flickers between his eyes and mouth.  After the year – not to mention the mission – they’ve had he shouldn’t be so surprised to see interest on her face, but he is.  So he deflects with, “You ready for this, Major?” accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir,” she says with a breathier quality to her voice than he’s comfortable with considering the uniforms.

He takes a hesitant step towards her.  “Okay?” he asks as he settles a hand on her hip and cups her cheek with the other.

“Yes, sir,” she says and he swears her voice has gone breathier still.

He takes another step into her and then leans down and suddenly he’s speaking against her lips, “If you don’t touch me too this probably isn’t going to be very convincing.”

Then she slides her hands around him across his ribcage and she closes the slight gap between their mouths.  She sighs and he pulls her tighter to him.

He’s so wrapped up in the feeling of her hands on his shoulder blades, her hips pressed against him, her lips on his that he’s momentarily befuddled when she’s wrenched from his grip.  But behind him Daniel is gasping and Teal’c has shifted into an offensive stance and the combination makes his skin crawl like it does just before he leaps into the fray.

Just as his palms start to itch from missing the feeling of the fabric of her uniform under his hands, he realizes that Votan’s First Prime has her in a half nelson.  His first instinct is to lunge for her but he’s learned a thing or two over the years.  “Daniel, what the hell’s going on?”

Daniel is blubbering behind him in a way that makes him very uneasy.  “I…well…I don’t know, Jack.  We’ve done something wrong.”

“Ya think?!?” he throws over his shoulder before addressing the First Prime.  “What now?”

“This woman is not yours.”

“Like hell she isn’t!” Jack returns with confidence he doesn’t possess. 

“She is not.  You touch her as if you require permission.”

“That’s how it’s done on our world,” he tries to reason while simultaneously calculating the number of times Jaffa have responded to reason.

“You lie to me!  You lie to our God.”

Jack looks past the enormous man to see Votan with a smirk on his face that sets Jack’s blood to boil.  “You have been warned about lying to your God,” Votan says.  Jack shudders at the slime in his voice.

“Major Carter belongs to me,” Jack reasserts.  In front of him Carter’s eyes are wide and frightened and the First Prime slides his hand across her flat belly and pulls her back into his tree-trunk of a body.  He watches as she tenses up and he can see a defensive maneuver itch its way across her shoulders.  “Easy there, Carter,” he soothes more with his eyes than his voice.

“Your Major Carter now belongs to me,” Votan says.  “I am sure I will enjoy her much more than you have.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It takes longer than it should to realize she’s been ripped out of the Colonel’s embrace.  She goes through the motions of other emotions but it’s not until a wall of Jaffa step between her and the rest of her team that she realizes this is why the frat regs exist in the first place.  She’s already a prisoner before she really realizes what’s happening.

It’s not until she can’t see the guys anymore that she screams for them.  It’s about that time, coincidentally, that the First Prime slides his hand down her stomach until he’s touching her in places she hasn’t been touched in a damn long time.  That’s when she realizes this is going to get very, very bad.  “Colonel,” she shrieks in a voice she’d be embarrassed about if a Jaffa didn’t have his hand down her pants.

“Carter!” his ragged voice breaks through the scuffle of armor as he and the others are detained.  She kicks at the First Prime’s shins and she realizes that the giant man has hauled her completely off the ground.  It should be awkward, she finds herself contemplating, how he’s got her suspended with an arm wrapped beneath hers with his hand grasping the back of her neck while his other hand cups her groin, but he seems to manage it with little effort.

Then the crowd parts and she can see the rest of her team subdued and on their knees and she flushes with color knowing they can see that the Jaffa has his hand inside the material of her uniform pants.  Though, why she’s bothering with embarrassment when she’s in a frighteningly bad situation is beyond her.  Maybe, perhaps, because just moments ago she’d been flooded with desire for her commanding officer, now she’s sure that evidence is plain to her captor and it feels very, very wrong to have another man’s hand in wetness he didn’t cause while the cause looks on in horror.

She locks eyes with the Colonel at the exact moment the Jaffa plunges a thick, and what she can only imagine is dirty, finger inside of her.  She cries out then slams her eyes closed and bites her lip to prevent any further sound.  “You are a whore who belongs to no mere man, Major Carter.  But do not be mistaken, you will be used.”

“Sam!” she hears Daniel’s anguished voice call out, thick with tears.

“Carter,” the Colonel calls and his voice cracks.  “You fight them all the way, you hear me?”

So that’s that, then, she supposes while she tries to disassociate from the feeling of the Jaffa’s jagged fingernail catching against her softest flesh; they’re letting her go.  They’re just letting her be taken away by a man who spent less than thirty seconds holding her prisoner before he began violating her.

“Carter?” the Colonel calls out again.

Does he really expect her to answer?  She refuses to open her eyes to see the look on his face.  She just turns in on herself as the Jaffa hauls her away.

“Carter!”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“We’ve got to go back for her, Jack.”

“I know that, Daniel.”

“God!  Did you see what he—“

“ _Yes_ , Daniel.” Jack hisses in a way that makes Daniel think he’d be wise to shut the hell up already.

“That should have worked,” he mutters to himself but Jack’s not in the right frame of mind for curiosity.

“Well it didn’t fucking work, did it, Daniel?”

“I’m sorry.  I—“

“Don’t apologize to me.  You apologize to her when we get her back,” Jack punctuates his sentence with a stiff finger poked into Daniel’s chest.

“I will,” he assures Jack.

“Teal’c?”

“Yes, O’Neill?”

“They’re going to do to her what it looks like they were going to do to her, right?”

“Yes,” Daniel shudders at the finality of Teal’c’s voice.  “And more.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She finds herself at first thrown into a cell that’s really just a large shower.  Lukewarm water pummels her until it begins to hurt.

After that a young Jaffa who is still nearly twice her size comes and takes her boots, belt and vest.  She’s curious for a few minutes about why they’d leave her with clothes at all, and then another Jaffa comes in with a gauzy pair of pants and a short tank top and cuts her clothes off her while she struggles.  She gets two long slices along her legs for her efforts and when it’s over she’s still dressed in the Goa’uld version of lingerie.

The first Jaffa – the one who has already claimed the inside of her – comes back after a while and she gets a black eye when she spits in his face.

It only takes a day to realize she’s like a new feature in a two-screen town and she discovers they all get their jollies in different ways.  Some wear armor, some don’t, some bring weapons…some bring other kinds of weapons.  Later it’s clear she sees them all before she starts seeing them all over again and the only one who gets to jump the line is the first one; the one whose name she’s come to discover is Tar’ayn. 

It’s five days later when she realizes SG-1 isn’t coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all the readers and reviewers.


	20. Primary Emotion: Surprise

“When I was a younger man, I went to war.”

Natalie watches as Colonel O’Neill’s eyes glaze over into his past and take on the softer look of a man with ten years fewer demons.  There’s a sharpness in them, though, she doesn’t usually see and she thinks is probably the harder edges of youth.  The lines on his face seem to fill, the gauntness in his cheeks recedes and in her minds’ eye she sees the striking younger man he probably was.

“People don’t talk about it – the way you feel while you’re at war.  I signed up because I wanted to be a pilot first and couldn’t afford college second and the recruiter made it sound like the Air Force was the answer to all my problems.  In a way, it was.  Yeah, it put me through college.  And yeah, it made a pilot out of me.  And then… but after that… well, after that it made a soldier out of me.

“People don’t join the Air Force to be soldiers.  They join the Air Force to work with planes.  Or to be in intelligence.  There are all sorts of jobs the other branches consider cushy.  You’ve heard the terms Black Ops?  Special Ops?”

Natalie nods because she can’t find her voice, so enthralled with his story, the sound of his voice, the wonder of where he’s going with it all.

“I joined the service in 1970.  I graduated college in 1974 and by the time I was out of flight school a year and a half later we’d pulled out of Vietnam but I knew guys who’d gone down during their missions.  There were guys still running flights in Cambodia.  They were revered in a way I wasn’t prepared for, especially not in my early twenties when I was young, dumb and full of,” he pulls up short.  “Well, you know.

“In ‘78, I flew a couple of hairy missions in Zaire where we were only supposed to have transport planes.  But who do you send when transport planes are having trouble?  You send guys like me who fly the fast, little planes that transport lighter, more useful cargo.”

“After that, for a variety of reasons, I was recruited into Spec Ops.  In the Air Force we’re called STOs – Special Tactics Officers.  We did then and still do the jobs other officers in the Air Force don’t want to think about.  We do the jobs people assign in their minds to Seals or Rangers.  We secured air fields.  We rescued men.  And sometimes, we were the ones who needed rescuing.

“I’m not sure how well you know your military history, so stop me if I…”

“It’s fine,” Natalie interjects, slightly embarrassed by the nearly breathy, awestricken sound of her voice, “please go ahead.”

“In 1979, Iranian activists knocked over the US Embassy in Tehran.  They’ll make a movie about it one day, and they’ll leave out half the good shit, but the aftermath of those events spurred 1980’s Operation Eagle Claw.  At the time I was based out of Florida with the 1st Special Operations Wing.  It was my first STO mission.  Anyway, they put a gun in your hands, they train you, they train your brain and it’s hard anytime, but especially when you’re in your late twenties, to rein in the emotions they try to unleash.

“Tehran and Eagle Claw were right around the time the Joint Special Operations Command was coming together  so they’re throwing the AF guys in with Deltas, Rangers, Special Forces, and Airborne guys and expecting that the testosterone isn’t going to absolutely blow all our dicks up, right?”

Natalie can’t help but quirk a grin and he has the decency to blush when he catches her eye.

“But we talked about certain things a lot.  More than girls, and music and leave, we talked about what it would be like to kill another human being.  We craved it.  They guys who had done it had capital the rest of us couldn’t compete with.  And before long we realized it wasn’t just bravado.  We really wanted it.

" _I_ really wanted it.”

“You _wanted_ to kill another human being?”

He nods.  “And not just because they were the ‘bad guys’ and we were the ‘good guys’ but because I wanted to know what it felt like.  Because I had the power to do it.”

“Do you feel that way now?”

He shakes his head. “No. The desire went away after my first kill.  Despite my military career and the things I’ve been able to do, the killing always leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” she shrugs with one shoulder.

“It’s guilt,” he corrects and she feels chagrinned.  “And fear.  And knowing every time you kill someone and leave a body behind, you leave a little of yourself behind with it.”

“Over the course of my career I’ve worked with a lot of front line guys – all STO.  In the AF, if you’re running around with a group of people with guns, you’re running around with STO.  You get used to seeing that look in their eyes like you’re looking in a mirror – we all wanted the kill; either at some time in the past or still did.  And then they handed me Carter.  Her eyes were all big blue skies and possibilities.”

“And now?”

“Now sometimes she wants to kill.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When she hears the sliding glass door whoosh along the runners behind her, she looks over her shoulder and her eyes smile when she sees him.  She holds her hand out to him and he pretends for a moment it’s not because she wants to snag the bottle of beer he’s holding for one long pull while it’s freshly cold out of the fridge.  He likes how he knows little things about her now; like how she doesn’t even really like beer at all except for that first frosty sip but that she drinks it so she can be one of the guys.  And how onions make her eyes burn worse than anyone he’s ever known.  And how she tucks the loose end of a towel between her breasts instead of under her arm when she gets out of the shower.

She likes the smell of the grass right after it’s been cut.  He likes to watch the way she digs her bare toes into the springy ground as she draws deep breaths into her lungs and makes her rib cage push her now fuller breasts against the fabric of the shirt she’s wearing that’s probably his.  He marvels at those toes and the electric blue nail polish he’d watched her paint on while they watched an episode of History’s Mysteries and ate ice cream out of the carton with one spoon.

He taunts her with the beer and a smile because when he does the corner of her mouth quirks up and she says “Jack” in that sweetly exasperated way that makes his stomach tighten pleasantly in the moments before her fingers thread through his to divest him of the bottle and she steals his breath away along with his beer.

And when she grins against the mouth of the bottle as she bumps a shoulder into his chest, he doesn’t resist the urge to sling his arm around her, snag the bottle and steal that first sip. 

“I wanted that,” she pouts in a purely feminine way he’d have never pegged her for before he got to know her this way.

“There’s more in the fridge.”

She shakes her head and takes the second sip with a shrug.  But she crinkles her nose a little as it goes down and she hands the bottle back without complaint.

She turns in his embrace until she can lean solidly against him, pressed to him from her shoulder blades to mid back, careful to avoid tucking her hips back against his but she allows him to wrap his other arm around her waist in counterpoint to the one now loose across her collar bones.  He presses the cold bottle to her belly and grins against her ear when she sucks in a sharp breath at the intrusion.  She wriggles against him when the vibration of his following chuckle tickles her.  “You surprised me,” she says.

“You surprise me all the time.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

More often than not she comes home to find Jack passed out in his recliner being shouted at by a hockey game that may or may not be twenty years old.  When she’s not there in the evenings, it seems, he reclaims a little of his old bachelor days.  She usually feels a stab of guilt about what he’s given up for her as she turns the volume down to a more reasonable level and then does her level best to wake him up to cook her dinner by banging pots and pans around louder than is strictly necessary.

But tonight she walks in on an intense chess game.  Daniel is biting his lip as his fingers hover over the black pieces and his eyes look concerned.

She sets her bag down against the dining room wall and kicks her shoes off under the table.  “You’d think by now you’d have learned not to let Jack have the white advantage.”

“You’re not helping,” he says affectionately and reaches over to squeeze her hand while never taking his eyes off the board.

“You’re late,” Jack says conversationally but she can see the question in his eyes. 

She had an appointment with Natalie but she’s fine so she tells him so.  “I could cook,” she offers halfheartedly.

Jack pulls a face, “We ordered Chinese.  It should be here any—“ he’s cut off by the doorbell.

“I’ve got a couple twenties,” Daniel offers but Jack cuts him off with, “My wallet’s on the dresser.  Sam, would you?”

She answers the door and asks the kid to wait while she retrieves Jack’s wallet.  Like most urges these days she doesn’t resist the one that makes her want to flip through the photos inside.  She smiles.  He’s probably the last remaining person on the planet who carries honest to goodness photos in his wallet.  Her smile falters over the last school photo of Charlie – the same one that has several places of honor throughout the house – and then another of Charlie and Jack together with identical big smiles and smudges of dirt on their cheeks.

Back at the door she hands over a couple of bills and tells the kid to keep the change.  She delivers the bag of food to the table but curls up in one of the chairs with Jack’s wallet instead of fetching plates and flatware from the kitchen.

She pages through to photos nearly oblivious to the small smile she earns from Jack for her curiosity and she wonders, for a moment, at how open he’s become with her.  It’s like there’s no place in his life that’s off limits to her.  She doesn’t think she’s ever had that kind of freedom.  Not anytime or with anyone – not even with a man she was supposed to marry.

He leans over and flips the photos so she’s looking at the last one.  It’s a picture of SG-1 all together, just about to step through the gate.  She’s grinning at him with a heated affection and his eyes have gone wide and she remembers that moment like it was yesterday.  She’d told a bawdy joke and shocked the hell out of him.

“Your dad took that picture,” he says.

“I know.”

“And he gave it to me.”

“He didn’t give me a copy,” she says, confused.

“He said he never quite liked the way you were looking at me.”

“That’s the way I always look at you.”

He doesn’t answer so she looks up at him and he’s smirking.  “I know,” he says, then winks.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s her screams that wake him up and he’s halfway to her bedroom before he realizes he’s even out of bed.  That’s probably why he doesn’t realize he’s once again bare chested when he sits down on the edge of her bed and places a hand on her shoulder.  Well, he doesn’t realize until she’s clinging to him, her faced pressed into his neck and her fingernails cutting half-moons into the soft places between his shoulder blades and spine.  Her breath is hot and moist against his skin, and her tank top is damp where her heaving chest presses against his. 

They’re sitting hip to hip and even as she’s pulling him tighter to her he’s worried that he’s too close.  Then one of her hands falls to his thigh and she digs her nails into the tender flesh just below the hem of his shorts and he wonders if she’s _trying_ to hurt him.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Sam.” He grasps her upper arms and shakes her a little to get her attention, but her breath is coming in fast pants and her eyes are squeezed tightly closed.  She’s mumbling and he tucks her head back into the crook of his neck and holds her there so he can feel her lips moving against his skin.  “Sam, Sam, Sam…” he says her name in a repeating, soothing mantra until her breaths come evenly and her tears stop. 

She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that there’s a lot of bare skin in her bed tonight and she slips off to sleep again in his arms.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jack sits in his recliner and listens to the soft sounds of Sam teaching Teal’c how to play backgammon.  After a while it was clear he’s gotten the hang of it and they play and make as much idle chit chat as Teal’c is prone to make.

“You haven’t been coming to the pool,” she remarks quietly.  Insecurely.

Jack winces because he hates that little-girl sound in her voice that reminds him in equal parts why he should and shouldn’t be with her.

“You have not needed me, Major Carter.”

It’s quiet for a long while and he thinks how that’s true.  Also, how it isn’t.  Sure, Sam’s gotten better.  She’s looking more like her old self all the time – especially now that she’s almost back up to her fighting weight and her meltdown haircut has grown out.  She puts makeup on and usually wears her own clothes (the Teal’c-sweatshirt she’s currently wrapped up in is deference to the chilly night air they just came in from and is not withstanding).

But she still has nightmares, she still jumps if she comes around a corner in the dark and finds Jack standing there.  The doctors aren’t making noises about putting her back on a front line team and neither is she.

He listens as their pieces make snicking and swooshing sounds as they move them around the board.  He turns the volume down on the television one more click.

“I’ll always need you, Teal’c.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In the several years she’s been at the SGC she never imagined Jack and General Hammond would sit on his deck together and drink beer.  But, there they were and the ease and familiarity with which they sat suggested this wasn’t the first time it had happened.

She makes herself busy, nervously, in the kitchen because there’s no way they hadn’t heard her car pull up and park in the driveway.  She certainly hadn’t mentioned her new living arrangements to the General. She wasn’t sure if anyone else had.  But whether they had or hadn’t, it was a lot like her dad had caught her with her boyfriend in her bedroom with the door closed.  Not that Jack was her boyfriend.  Or that anything untoward was going on – in bedrooms or otherwise.  She flicks on the hot water and begins to fill the sink.

A few minutes later Jack joins her in the kitchen.  He touches her waist, curves his hand with gentle possession around her hip in a way he’s come to over the last few weeks – it’s a small yet meaningful touch she doesn’t associate with her time on Votan.  She’s elbow deep in dishwater and is methodically washing the two coffee cups and single spoon she’d found at the bottom of the basin.

“General Hammond is here.”

“I see that,” she tries to say calmly but is pretty sure she’s failed spectacularly. 

“You wanna come sit outside with us?”

She washes the cups again.  “Is that such a good idea?”

“What do you mean?”

She spins around and tries not to let goose bumps flair up where his hand trails around her midsection, unprepared as he was for her sudden movement.  Bubbles from the sink flick off her hands and cling to the front of his shirt.  “I mean, what is he going to think finding me coming home here after work?”

“Sam,” he says gently in that way he has that can make her feel either soothed or stupid depending on her mood, “what makes you think he’d be surprised to find you here at any time of the day?”

“Jesus, Jack,” she say and finds she’s resting her forehead against his chest, “what the hell are we doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fictionalized recollection of real military events. I’ve inserted Jack O’Neill where the series tells me I should by inferring some things based on information parceled out throughout the series. We were never flat out told exactly what he did or where he was or what unit(s) he was a part of, but we know, around about 1980 that Jack O’Neill was injured in a parachuting accident near the borders of Iraq and Iran. That pretty much places him as part of one particular mission that fit in really well with…
> 
> Some of his thoughts came about as a result of a segment on This American Life with Ira Glass Episode 515 “The Good Guys”. The segment was entitled Deep Dark Open Secret. I encourage you to go take a listen; I’ve placed a link on my FFN profile but it's fairly easy to google, too.


	21. The Festival

**Part V: Joy**

“But I’ve got tickets.  For tonight,” Jack wheedles.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not going anywhere in this weather.  The sheer number of lightning strikes makes gate travel far too unpredictable.”

“Tickets, Carter.”

“Hockey can’t possibly be more important than getting stranded in the wrong timeline, Jack.” Daniel tries to reason.

“The season ended a couple of weeks ago,” Sam points out helpfully.

Jack shoots her a glare then swings his gaze around to Daniel.  “ _Possibly_ getting stranded,” he tries but his scientists aren’t budging.  No matter.  Hammond hadn’t budged either.  “Besides,” he gestures to the cave around them, “this pretty much reeks of stranded.”

“I don’t think it’s called stranded when you know when and how you can leave,” Sam says and draws a circle in the dirt between her feet with a stick.

“Waylaid,” Daniel offers.

“Temporarily detained.”

“Et tu, Teal’c?”  Jack watches his breath cloud in front of his face.

Teal’c just raises an eyebrow and goes back to laying the sleeping bags out in the kind of perfectly straight line that makes Jack itch to tease him about OCD.

“Besides, we’ve been holed up here for almost two weeks.  What’s one more night?”

“It’s not just _one more night_ , Daniel.  It’s one more night and then a four day festival we’re getting roped into only because we couldn’t get the hell off this rock in time.”

“It hasn’t been _that_ bad, sir.”

“I’ve been sleeping on a rocky cave floor for two weeks, Carter.”

“And the rest of us haven’t?” she fires back and when she sees his raised eyebrow and unamused mouth she quickly tacks on, “sir.”

“More than one morning you and Daniel woke up like kittens,” he tries to tease but even he realizes he hardly sounds amused.

Daniel grimaces.  “It’s been cold.  It’s not like I meant anything by it.”

“Hey!” Sam objects.

“What?” Daniel asks, clueless.  Sam punches him in the arm and he rubs his hand over that place to take the sting out.  “Why did you hit me?”

“It’s not like I meant anything by it,” she parrots.

He tries not to notice how Teal’c surveys the rest of them and then moves Sam’s sleeping back so that she’ll have to sleep between him and Jack.  “Okay, kids,” Jack soothes.  “Nobody meant anything.”  He sighs.  “Yeah, this has been a real picnic.” 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Fard Kamarnin is a little more solicitous than Jack is comfortable with.  It’s been his experience that when his team is fawned over by the local leader – especially by a short, balding, overweight local leader – that they were about to be asked to do something that wouldn’t quite fly with the regs at home.  After all this time he knew to pray for food, alcohol or even the local peyote. 

“But you cannot go inside with this one such as she is,” the little man frets and pats at Carter’s shoulders.  Jack smothers a grin as he watches her try to bat his hands away politely.

“Such as she is?” Carter repeats incredulously.

“Well,” he flounders, “you are…of an individual mind.”

“A what?”

Daniel and Teal’c exchange a glance.  Daniel clears his throat and thrusts Jack forward and all of a sudden Jack gets it.  “She’s not,” he says confidently.  “This one’s mine,” he continues with a puff of pride that she lances with one withering glare.

But she concedes, “Yes,” after having experienced far too may times of worry on the heels of her immediate disagreement.  “I’m…his.”

Jack makes a face at her.  Could she have made that sound any worse?

“Oh,” the Fard Kamarnin titters with embarrassment, “in that case… I’m terribly sorry… It’s just that…”

“Don’t worry,” Jack says and claps him on the shoulder, “we get that a lot.”

“Votan will not be pleased.”

“Color me shocked,” Jack says and gestures his team forward as the large, rolling gates slide open to reveal a party in full swing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As they near the end of the first day, Jack hates to admit it, but it’s not a bad party.  There’s good food, some kind of a weak honey ale, lively music, and pretty young girls doing flouncy dances that manage to keep him from focusing a hundred percent of his attention on his second’s smiling face.

They pass by another of the wooden ale stalls and Jack grabs another couple of tankards he passes back and forth with Sam and Daniel.  Teal’c had merely turned his nose up at the light alcoholic scent.

Carter’s eyes keep straying to the groups of young women.  Most appear to be in their twenties, but some are obviously close to thirty.  “I wonder what the big deal is about me being single.  It would appear that all these dancing girls are ‘of an individual mind’,” she makes air quotes with one hand since she’s holding a tankard with the other.

Daniel shrugs.  “Maybe those girls are single but not single minded.  Do you think the Fard Kamarnin can tell when women prefer to focus on their professions rather than marriage?”

“I don’t think these girls have a lot of professional options,” Jack observes just as Sam mutters, “Who says prefer?”  He shoots a glance at her and she shrugs.

“That was an interesting choice of words, though, don’t you think?” Daniel asks.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I do not _dance_ ,” Teal’c reiterates and shakes off a pretty young woman in a green dress. 

“They might find that insulting,” Daniel tries to warn.

“I do not care, Daniel Jackson.  I do not—“

“Dance,” Jack jumps in.  “Yes, Teal’c, we know.  Danny, leave ‘im alone.  I’ll dance with her,” he says and his voice almost conveys how little he really wants to dance around a fire on his bad knees in the arms of a girl young enough to be his daughter.

“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Daniel interjects.

“No, sir,” Sam says quietly and her ducked head tells him exactly why.

“I suppose I should be dancing with you,” he says and doesn’t like the hurt look in her eyes at the dejected tone in his voice.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with her.  It’s that he does.

“We can.  If you like.”

“No, I don’t like,” he says petulantly, “but apparently it’s the thing to do.”  He gestures at the frivolity that’s overtaken nearly all the able-bodied festival participants.

A couple minutes later he finds himself with his second in his arms and the fire between them and their teammates.  She won’t meet his eyes, instead her gaze is affixed to some point over his shoulder.  “Carter,” he says and jostles her a little so she’ll look at him, “I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes you work so hard to make everything look good that you make it feel bad,” she says.

He crushes her closer to him.  “I know.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Whoa!” Jack exclaims and gives a low whistle.  “What the hell is happening?”

Daniels eyes go wide as saucers.  “I don’t know.”

“Those women appear to be naked.”

“Not… _naked_ …Teal’c,” Carter helpfully supplies.  “More like strategically undressed.”

And she’s right, Jack observes.  The women do, in fact, have gauzy lengths of fabric wound around their waists and ribcages and coordinating ribbons crisscrossing their calves.

“Major Carter,” the Fard Kamarnin appears at her side, “we must get you appropriately attired for the ceremony.”

“Oh, like hell,” Jack says menacingly.

“Fard,” Sam reasons, “my… _husband_ , won’t allow me to be so…exposed…in mixed company.”

“Damn straight,” Jack mutters.

The Fard Kamarnin gestures to the women behind him, “No, Major Carter, you do not understand, your navel will always be appropriately covered.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Why, exactly did I let Carter go with him?”

“She’s fine, Jack.  The Fard Kamarnin agreed she didn’t have to put on the ceremonial garb.  She’s just being made comfortable while we go over these documents.  Women aren’t allowed in Scholar’s Hall.”

“Please tell me there’s something in there that explains what the hell he wants with her,” he gestures at one of the fifteen open volumes spread on the table between Daniel and Teal’c.

“All the women are to be observed by Votan,” Teal’c supplies.

“And what, exactly, does that mean?”

“Some of the women have been prepared for him,” Daniel summarizes the pages in front of him.  “Apparently he only finds unclaimed women suitable for his purposes.  All the women will be presented but he’ll only choose fro the ones prepared for him – and those are the ones who are unclaimed.”

“Unclaimed?”  Jack asks.  “What are we talking here, unmarried or virgins?”

“Does it matter? As far as they know she’s married. And as far as we know, she’s not a virgin.”

“We should ask Major Carter,” Teal’c says.

Jack pulls a face.  “She’s not a virgin and like you said, she’s married.  For today anyway.  So what else do we have to worry about?”

“I don’t know, Jack.  But it looks like we’ve got it covered.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When the Goa’uld steps off the Al’kesh vessel, Jack leans over and murmurs into Carter’s ear, “This might seem like a strange question, but you’re not a virgin, right?”

Her eyes go wide as the rows of women in front of them genuflect.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You just…you’ll just have to kiss her, Jack.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Sam tries to object.

“You don’t have a choice, Sam.  Votan will consider you unclean if you’ve been possessed by someone else.”

“We’re calling kissing ‘possession’ now, are we?”

“Sir, now’s not really the time,” Carter scolds.

“Sorry.”  He turns toward the Fard Kamarnin and Votan’s First Prime.  “Okay, let’s do this.”


	22. Tertiary Emotion: Hope

“I wonder if we could be something without all the adrenaline.  If we really need the stress and the fear and the pain, the all-out threat of torture, a pack, and a half dozen bricks of C-4 a piece.”  She finishes washing the plate in her hands and relinquishes it for him to dry without meeting his eyes.

“What?” he asks evenly as if she hadn’t just questioned the very nature of the most basic parts of what they are, as if she didn’t just stop his heart, as if she can’t tell he’s a half a breath away from panic.  “You don’t think we’re something right now?”

She chooses not to answer and he dries three more dishes.  “I know this isn’t exactly what you wanted but it’s more than I ever let myself want.  I’m not going let anyone just take it away, Carter.  Not even you.”

She sweeps breadcrumbs and sesame seeds into a little pile on the floor with her toes.  “You’re not my Colonel anymore.  You don’t get to say my name like that.”

He tosses a clean Tupperware container at her and she snags it out of the air.  “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”

“It’s working,” she says with a shrug.

“It’s working because you know exactly what to say to make it hurt.”

“I don’t really want to hurt you,” she says in a way that makes it clear that while she might not _want_ to, she does it because she can.  She hates what that says about her.

“The trick is to know how to hurt me but _not_ do it.”

“I have literally no idea what I’m supposed to be doing, you know that, right?”

“Any ideas about what you’re _not_ supposed to do?” he leads.

She gives him a half smile because she knows at least one thing, for sure.  “Yeah.”

“Well, start there.  That’s better than a lot of people ~~do~~.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Later, it’s packed into the tiny space of his inadequate laundry room – oh, how he misses the wide and airy laundry room at her house – that she tilts his world a little.  “You were right – this, here with us, isn’t exactly what I wanted.”

While his world disintegrates and he tries not to panic, he folds the shirt in his hands and does his best not to vomit into the heap of clean clothes in front of him.

“How could it have been?  I didn’t know there was something out there like this that I could ask for.”

He exhales sharp relief.  “Well, hell, Sam.  How’s a guy supposed to follow something like that?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“We _have_ talked about it,” Jack emphasizes over beer.

Daniel resists the urge to snort into his glass.  “You mean the two dozen sentences you two have exchanged on the subject?”

“We do a lot more talking than actually makes it back to you, you know?”

“I _mean_ , Jack, that you have to have a conversation that includes the words ‘exclusive’ and ‘relationship’ and ‘love’.”

“Girl stuff,” Jack shrugs and takes a drink.

“Uh, she _is_ a girl,” he points out like it would matter.

“Why?”

Daniel looks at Jack likes he’s grown two heads.  “Why is she a girl?”

Jack rolls his eyes and spins his mug on the bar before quirking an eyebrow.  “We’re sure you’re a genius?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“What does being happy feel like?”

“I really feel like we’ve done this before.”

“Sam,” Natalie scolds gently, “we’ll stop doing it when you actually answer the question.”

Sam swipes a small rock from the decorative bowl on the table next to the couch and turns it over in her hands.  “Do you think it’s possible I’ve never been happy?”

“I think there are degrees of happiness. And I think you’ve probably attained one or more of them at various points in your life.”

“I’m not ready to be happy.  Not yet.”

“Okay,” Natalie nods.  She can understand that.  She, herself, spent many years not quite ready to face what she needed to truly be happy.  “So, what do you feel ready for?”

“I guess I’m just hoping for…hope.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You want a glass of wine?”

She looks over her shoulder at him from where she’s curled up in the recliner he dragged over in front of the fireplace for her.  “Can I?”

He looks at the clock.  “You’re right in between doses.  It’s probably safe.”

“Probably?”

He shrugs one shoulder.  “Doesn’t matter to me if you get loopy.”

She’s suddenly struck by how much she wants to touch him.  It’s a visceral feeling of anticipation that prickles across her chest and then heats the skin of her belly.  “Come here.”

He pushes himself off the wall where he’s leaning and saunters her direction.  “Okay,” he says when he’s next to the chair, “I’m here.  Now what?”

She reaches out to him and he snags her fingers.  She twists her wrist until their fingers tangle together.  It’s not enough.  She tugs and he takes another step forward, but his thighs bump into the arm of her chair.  “Sit with me,” she requests.

“This chair isn’t built for two,” he says, but still he pulls her up and takes her seat before coaxing her down into the small space between his lap and the arm of the chair.  The awkward position tilts her into him and she arranges her legs so they’re half draped over his and tucks her shoulder under his arm.  Left with a free hand she flounders then finally settles it on his chest. 

She’s overwhelmed by her feelings in this moment.  She’s in love with him.  It’s not new.  It’s certainly not news.  But it’s strong and powerful and a little frightening and even though she knows it isn’t, it still feels a little wrong.  He’s in love with her too.  That’s not news either and it’s something she knows without a single doubt despite the fact that neither one of them are likely or inclined to actually say the words.  She doesn’t need him to say them.  He shows her.  All the time.  But _in love_ isn’t quite the same as _love_ and trusting emotions isn’t her strong suit.  It wasn’t before and it’s especially not now.

She presses her face into his neck and breathes deeply.  He’s familiar and comfortable, solid and strong.  She has a powerful urge to open her mouth against his neck, to find out what his skin feels like against the softer inside of her lips but she doesn’t.  She doesn’t think he’d stop her, but she doesn’t trust the feelings inside her and he probably wouldn’t either.  Instead she presses her forehead against his cheekbone and exhales shakily. 

“Yeah,” he says, and strokes a hand down her spine, “I know.  Me too.”

And there it is, blooming wide open in her chest.  Hope.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Janet draws her foot up Daniel’s leg until she can cup the arch of her foot around his knee.  The sheets are cool but his skin is warm and she enjoys the juxtaposition.  The hairs on his thigh tickle the side of her foot and she twitches.  He smooths a hand across her skin to quiet her and mumbles into her hair.

She tickles his ribs until he flinches away from her hand and closer into her and the feel of all her bare, hot skin against him forces him awake and she’s underneath him before she’s aware he’s fully awake.

“I didn’t go to bed until three thirty,” he says into her mouth, around their tongues.

She wriggles against him.  “Well, you’re awake now.”

“I’m tired.”  But still he scratches his nails lightly down the side of her breast.

“I went to bed alone last night.”

“And now you’re looking for reparations?”

She laughs against his mouth, “Something like that.”

He touches the tip of his tongue to the corner of her mouth in that way she inexplicably likes and she presses up into him.  He’s inside her before either of them had planned that far ahead and they both hiss at the contact.  She pushes on his shoulders and he rolls over onto his back and takes her along with him.  From above him, she can take advantage of the way the morning light streaks across his face.  She plants her hands on his chest and uses the leverage to stroke up then slide back down.

“Why were you late?”

He tightens his hands – left on her hip, right on her waist, “I stopped for dinner with Jack and that put me behind.”

He pulls her down on him hard and she doesn’t bite back her moan and her next words are breathy.  “So what do you think?  Are they okay?”

He hisses when her fingernails bite gently into his pecs.  “Ah!  I don’t know.  You know how he is.  He doesn’t talk about anything.”

One of his hands slides down to rub against her clit.  That means he’s close.  “He talks to her.”

She rolls her hips and he grunts with the new sensation.  “About important stuff?”

“They talk like we talk,” she says but her voice shakes with the effort of not coming – she’s not ready to give up the feeling of him inside her.

“I don’t think they talk like we talk,” he says with a wink and surges up inside her.

“Maybe they should,” she points out as she loses the battle with her restraint.

He groans when she clenches around him.  “Fuck, Janet,” he grinds out and then he comes too.

She sits astride him, catching her breath.  “Do you know how insane it is that you’re one of the most impressive linguists in the galaxy and when you come you’re reduced to ‘Fuck, Janet’?”

He licks his lips and she feels an answering twinge deep inside her.  She tightens around him and blesses his refractory period. 

“Let’s go again and I’ll try to come up with something in ancient Sumerian.”

She finds herself underneath him again and she grins.  “That sounds fun.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Very conscious of having inadvertently abandoned Teal’c, she finds herself curled up in the easy chair in the corner of his room early one evening while he lights dozens of candles.

“Does the General know you have this many open flames in your room?” she queries.

“I have been given permission to Kelno’reem as I see fit.”

“Yeah.  But does he know about _all_ these candles?”

Teal’c, she would swear it, smirks.  “He does not.”

“Sort of a ‘what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him’ situation?”

“I do not believe that to be a true statement.”

“It’s just a saying.”

He regards her carefully.  “Do _you_ believe you will not be harmed by things you know nothing of?”

She bites her lips against the sudden onslaught of emotion.  “No,” she shakes her head.  “Not anymore.”

He crouches down in front of her and takes one of her trembling hands in his.  “Where is O’Neill?”

“In a meeting.” Even she can hear the quaver in her voice.

“Should I retrieve him for you?”

She shakes her head.  “No, Teal’c, that’s okay.”  She shifts forward until she’s perched on the edge of the chair and winds her arms around his neck.  He embraces her gently.  “You’ll do just fine.”

“I am glad you came to me tonight, Major Carter.”

“Me too.”

“You are not yet healed.”

“I’m not.” She says with a sigh and rests her cheek on his shoulder.  “But I will be.”

“You will,” he affirms.  “And I will help you.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When he catches Sam hugging Teal’c for the fourth time in as many days he can’t help but tease a little.  “I’m starting to wonder if there’s something I should be worried about.”  He doesn’t check his grin as he crosses his arm over his chest and leans against the door frame between the gym and the sparring room. 

Sam turns her face towards him but leaves her cheek pressed against the Jaffa’s chest.  “He’s just so big and cuddly,” she teases back.

Teal’c frowns.  “I am not ‘cuddly’,” he says in that voice that usually brooks no argument but Jack sees the smile around his eyes that belies his gruff response and reveals his pleasure with her assessment.

“You ready to go home?”

She releases Teal’c.  “I want to shower first.  Give me ten?”

“Sure,” he says mildly. 

She disappears into the locker room and Jack helps Teal’c restack the mats against the wall.

“Major Carter appears to be of a lighter mood the last several days.”

“Yeah,” Jack observes, “she has, hasn’t she?”

“She speaks of you more freely now than she did before.”

Jack pauses then stumbles when Teal’c’s and the mat’s forward momentum don’t stop.  “Yeah?”

“Indeed.”

“Do you have an opinion?”

Jack wonders for a moment if Teal’c is going to play stupid.  But that’s not the man’s style and he doesn’t disappoint Jack.  “If she is happy and you are happy then I believe you are doing the right thing.”

“I think she has the potential to be happy,” Jack hedges.

“For now, that is enough.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You’re a real pain now that you’re getting laid regularly,” Jack grouses and knocks back the last of the whiskey in his glass.

“Geez, Jack.  Do you have to be so vulgar?”

“That wasn’t vulgar.  I can _be_ vulgar.”

“Stop saying vulgar.”

“You started it.”

“Now who’s the pain? My point was that perhaps you and Sam don’t spend enough time talking.”

“ _Talking_ talking or talking like you and Janet are _talking_.  Because I was under the impression you were against that.”

Daniel’s head spins for a moment as wonders whether or not he already talked to Jack about this because his statement rang a little too close to Janet’s for Daniel’s comfort.

“I’m not against you and Sam.  I’m cautious about you and Sam.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since we found her?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s not like we’re rushing things.  And it’s not like I’m pushing her.  If anything, she’s setting the pace.”

Daniel spins the pool stick in one hand and rubs the tip with blue chalk with the other.  “Weren’t you going to rack?”

“Look at her,” Jack nods in the direction of the table where Sam and Janet sit talking animatedly.  “Really look at her, Daniel.  She’s doing okay.”

Daniel can’t help the doubt that flashes across his face.

“You’re right,” Jack concedes, “She’s not better.  Not yet.  But she _is_ doing okay.  And the potential to be better is there.  In the meantime,” Jack noisily racks the balls, “trust that I’m doing okay by her.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam watches as Jack knocks back the rest of his drink, half lit by the lamp over the pool table he looks good.

“It’s nice to see that look on your face again,” Janet teases.

“What look?” Sam asks distractedly.

“You know, your _Colonel O’Neill_ look.”

Sam blushes.  “I don’t have a look.”

“You do,” Janet chuckles and sips her wine.  “You know, physically, you’re fine now.”

Sam’s not sure she wants to acknowledge the reasons behinds her friend’s observation so she murmurs noncommittally. 

Janet seems to take the hint.  “But if you’re not ready… Well, he’s not going anywhere.”

She considers him carefully as he bends over to make the break shot while trying to tune out Daniel’s incessant talking.  “No?  I hope not.”  She smiles, because it’s true.  She’s got something worth holding on to and she wants to hold on to it.  For the first time in a long time she sees a path in front of her that might be worth travelling.  And it’s good.

 


	23. Tertiary Emotion: Triumph

Sam knocks on the door and tries to tamp down the trepidation in her stomach.

“Come,” the General’s voice filters through the closed door.

“Sir?” She pokes her head inside his office. “Do you have a moment?”

General Hammond smiles. “Major Carter. Come in. Sit down.” He waits until she does and when she doesn’t speak he prompts her, “What can I do for you?”

“There’s no easy way to handle this, sir, and I apologize.”

“Major?”

“Last week you went to visit Colonel O’Neill.” She takes a deep breath and decides to change her tack. “Jack. You came to visit Jack. And I was there.”

“Yes…” he leads.

“I’m always there.”

He leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his eyes. “Major Carter, did you break any fraternization regulations before PX6-432?”

“No, sir,” she affirms.

“How about after you came home?”

“Well, technically speaking, sir, I’m not sure.”

“Look, as much as I like you two, I wouldn’t sit back and watch you break regs without addressing the situation. I’ve addressed it as needed already with Colonel O’Neill.”

“You have?” She supposes this must be true; she’s heard a few stray comments here and there about Jack’s state of mind while she was gone. Surely a question or two had come up.

“Months ago. I removed him from your rescue detail when it became clear I needed to.”

“You did?” Well, that was news. Talking to Jack and benching him were two entirely different categories of addressing a situation.

“Yes. And since that time you’ve been reassigned to the science department.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Between your coming home and that time, you weren’t fit for duty, Major Carter.”

“So neither of us is doing anything wrong?” It’s not as if she didn’t intellectually know this, but hearing it from the base commander wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

“No. Though we might need to reassess that in the future if you’re interested in re-joining SG-1.”

When she doesn’t say anything he leans forward, rests his forearms on the edge of his desk and implores, “ _Are_ you interested in re-joining SG-1?”

“Sir,” she says carefully, “my personal relationship with Colonel O’Neill precludes that option.”

“I see.”

“But… I don’t want to lose my work here,” she offers and is mortified to hear tears in her voice.

“You won’t. Not over this. Sam,” the General tries and she’s shocked to hear him use her given name, “if you don’t want to go through the gate again, we’re not going to put you out to pasture.”

She sags with relief; she’d been worried - despite her obvious value to the SG program - that she’d be _more_ valuable at Groom Lake or perhaps the Pentagon if she was no longer willing to step through the gate. Moreover, she was afraid she wouldn’t even be given the option.

With that weight off her chest she’s ready to broach her next reason for braving a meeting with the base commander. “I’d appreciate it if I could come back to work full time. It’s been eight months. It’s time.”

He considers her carefully but she sees the small smile hovering around his mouth. “You’ll have to clear medical.”

“I can. Teal’c’s been working out with me.”

“Then I see no reason to postpone the inevitable. Welcome back, Major Carter,” he peers at her but smiles fully, “ _pending medical evaluation_.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She says with a smile. “For everything.”

“It’s good to have you back.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Sam?” Jack calls out trying to rein in his frustration. Forty-nine years old. He shouldn’t be turning a living room upside down for reading glasses. Not yet. “Sam!”

“What?” She comes in from the yard through the sliding glass door and the sight of her long, bare legs in cut-off jean shorts momentarily flummoxes him. “Jack?” she prompts when he continues to gape.

He shakes his head to clear the Carter-induced cobwebs. “My glasses?”

She smirks. “You owe me ten bucks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grouses. He never should have bet her he could go three days without misplacing something.

“Nightstand?” she offers but he can tell she’s not sure either.

He wanders down the hall to check and she trails him. At his bedroom door she stops and leans against the jamb. There are his glasses, right where she thought they’d be.

“I talked to Hammond yesterday,” she says.

He sits on the edge of the bed. “Yeah?”

“I’m not coming back to SG-1.”

He exhales heavily. He’d suspected as much. “I thought you’d have talked to me about it first.”

She sighs and considers him carefully before entering his room and sitting next to him on the bed. “I can’t go back through the gate, Jack. And even if I could, I couldn’t do it as part of your team. You know that.”

He slides his hand into hers so they’re palm to palm with fingers laced. “So this is about us, not about what happened to you?”

“It’s about both. But…what happened to me, that’s in the past. And us, well, we’re…” she trails off like she’s not sure. Or maybe just not sure how to say it.

He’s not sure how to say it either. He’s not sure he’s ready to be that vulnerable. Whatever they’re doing is something they just started and then kept at. He certainly didn’t give it a lot of conscious thought, she probably hadn’t either. He’d always been more likely to be in a relationship than out of one when a good candidate came along. A serial monogamist, the boys in his first couple of units had teased when he wouldn’t join in their one-night-fling-fun. And the truth is he’s been with Sam in his head for a lot longer than he’s willing to admit - even to her.

“I always sort of thought this is how it would happen. Not with you,” she’s quick to point out like maybe he’d take it wrong. “When I was younger I thought I’d look up one day and the man I was closest to would look up at me and we’d just realize we were together. Or that we wanted to be. And that would be that.

Then I got older and realized it didn’t happen that way.”

“Then it _did_ happen that way,” Jack observes. She nods. “Was it that way with Jonas?”

“No,” she hedges after a moment. “With Jonas everything was very…deliberate. We were never friends. We had three dates. We slept together. We decided to be exclusive. We dated for a year. He asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

“And I moved into your house,” he says, chagrined.

“Yeah,” she agrees, but she’s smiling. “But in your defense, you did own it for a couple of months. Sort of.”

“I don’t think paying the mortgage made me the owner.”

“I’m talking about the paperwork.”

He freezes. “What paperwork?”

“My will.”

“Your will?” He hates how talk of her not being around still slices open his insides.

“Yeah. Didn’t you guys go through the paperwork while I was gone? How did you deal with all the loose ends?”

“Sam,” he shakes his head, “you were never dead. Not in actuality and not in my mind. I didn’t go looking for paperwork because I knew I didn’t need it.”

“You couldn’t have known that.”

He chooses his words carefully and while he thinks she rubs the back of his hand gently with the pad of her thumb. “Sam, I was a wreck while you were gone. I told you that before. I did everything like you were still here but just couldn’t do it for yourself.”

“You’re lucky that worked,” she chides gently. “You should have looked at the paperwork.” He tries to interject but she cuts him off. “It’s important. I…I didn’t have anyone, Jack. That paperwork was the only way I had to tell everyone they were important to me. That _you_ were important to me. And you never even saw it but you did what you did anyway.”

“You think I needed a piece of paper to tell me how you felt?”

“ _I_ needed a piece of paper to tell you how I felt. That’s my point.”

“You don’t need a piece of paper anymore.”

“Well, I’ve got one, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Transfer orders. Groom Lake; permanent detachment to the SGC. Pending medical approval, of course.”

He’s quiet. “I’ve got very mixed feelings about that,” he finally decides.

“Me too,” she agrees.

“So we’re not going through the gate together anymore?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just everything else, I guess.”

“Coming home to you sounds pretty exciting.”

“I’m glad you think so. This is probably the biggest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Sam, we’re not even close to the biggest thing you’ve ever done.”

“In this way? Yeah, we are.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So, it turns out Jack and I are together,” Sam says as she plops herself down on the couch.

Natalie hides a grin behind her coffee cup. “I’m trying to decide if I should respond professionally or if I should just go with my gut.”

“Mix it up, Natalie,” Sam says in an irreverent way that just smacks of Jack O’Neill. “Tell me what you really think.”

“I think it’s about damn time the two of you saw what the rest of us have been seeing for a while.”

“It’s not that we didn’t see it, it’s that we didn’t _talk_ about it. Which is apparently important to a whole bunch of you.”

“Talking _is_ sort of my bread and butter,” Natalie feels compelled to point out.

“And General Hammond says I can come back to work full time if I pass a medical evaluation. Between Teal’c and Janet I’m ready to pass the physical portion. Can I pass the psych?”

“You’re not beating around the bush today, are you?”

“I feel like things are coming back together. I have a purpose. I have a plan.”

“You have a man.”

“One of those, too,” she agrees cheekily. “Yet no canal.”

Natalie groans. “That’s not even a good joke.”

“Ha! Then my sense of humor is back up to par.”

“What about gate travel?”

Sam shakes her head and bites her lip. “Certainly not now. Maybe not ever. I’ve got transfer orders to Groom Lake but I’d stay here on permanent detachment. I’ll be working full time in the science department.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“I like not losing this part of my life. It’s not hard to give up gate travel. Not now.”

“What about your team?”

“They’ll still be my friends. If nothing else, that’s what the last eight months have taught me.”

“And Jack?”

“It appears that I’m stuck with him.”

“Sam.”

“It’s…okay. It’s not perfect. I’m in love with him. I can’t separate myself from that intensity of feeling I get whenever he’s around. But I still can’t think about…a lot of things.”

“You can work on that. It’ll take time, but it’ll get better.”

“Are you sure? Because what if it doesn’t?”

“It will.”

“Jack’s not the kind of guy that would leave. He’s the kind of guy who’d just curl up on himself and be unhappy but never _tell me_ he was unhappy.”

“He’s already told you that not having a physical relationship isn’t a deal breaker for him.”

“He’s also a healthy, virile man.”

“This is just me talking here, but I think he can hold out while you’re deciding what you want.”

“He shouldn’t have to.”

“That’s his decision to make, Sam. In the meantime you can figure out what you want, what you need, and how to work through the intimacy issues that are remaining.

“You’ve done well at working through the fear, the sadness and the anger. You’ve learned to identify those emotions, to allow them. You’ve dealt with surprise. All of this has happened the way it usually does – in fits and starts with imperfect boundaries, lingering issues and the occasional flare-ups. Now, you’ve got to learn how to experience joy again.

“You’ve come in talking about work and a real life outside this place. That’s a win, Sam, no matter how you play it. We’ll work on all of it – including your relationship with Jack. But you’re healing. You’ve made huge strides forward. And the next ones will be the ones that give you your life – and your confidence back. Can you pass a psych eval for work? I don’t see why not. I’m your treating physician so I won’t administer the evaluation. And I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’ll be easy. They’ll try to exploit known weak points. But you’ve come far enough; I believe you’ll do fine.”

Natalie verges on uncomfortable while Sam takes deep stock of her following Natalie’s impassioned speech. Apparently Sam comes to a decision. “We’re having everyone over on Saturday. Jack’s going to burn some meat. You should come. Bring the family.”

“Thank you,” Natalie starts, “But I’m not sure that’s appropriate given our professional relationship.”

“This place is like a microcosm, Natalie. It’s almost impossible to make friends outside it so you learn to make do with the people inside. Don’t make me send Jack. He’s nearly impossible to refuse.”

Natalie laughs and relents. “Okay. Saturday.”

“Good,” Sam says with a final nod and scrawls the address down on a piece of scrap paper.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He hears the front door open and close from the kitchen. He damn near runs smack into her when he wanders into the dining room. She hands him a sheaf of bright white papers with a huge grin on her face but he’s been in a weird headspace all day; he sees “Evaluation” printed large across the top of the page and he flashes back to her last fit-for-duty eval – also with the words “Passed: Active Duty” printed at the bottom – and fights the urge to throw up. PTSD never quite picks a good moment to remind you that you have it.

She must see the urge to vomit crawl up his throat and burn behind his eyes because suddenly he’s got an armful of warm Sam and he’d swear if he didn’t know better, she was trying to climb him.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes against his hair, “I didn’t think about the last time I handed you that paperwork.”

He presses his open, gasping mouth against her ear and clings to her, feels her shudder against him, dips his head until his lips are pressed against her uniform covered shoulder, pretends his eyes didn’t just spring leaks.

“I’m just having a bad day, Sam.”

“Hey,” she soothes and combs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “it’s your turn, don’t you think?”

She dances them backwards until his back hits the wall and she presses tight up against his front and he no longer has to concentrate on staying upright. She presses a kiss to his temple and when he looks up at her she presses a tight, hard kiss against his mouth that’s nothing like passion and yet the most passionate thing he’s ever shared with her at the same time.

He grasps her head between his hands and pushes her back far enough that he can focus on her eyes. “This isn’t just about last time.” That entity. That _fucking entity_. He breathes out, watches as his breath makes her hair flutter.

“Because maybe they’ll send me back through the gate anyway?”

He licks his lips, watches her eyes drop to his mouth, watches the way she unconsciously licks her lips too and then he’s shifting her back so their hips aren’t touching anymore. “They could.”

“They might,” she concedes. “But not right now. Not for a while.”

“I really, really need you, you know?”

It’s not until she cups his face in her hand and swipes the pad of her thumb along his cheek that he remembers he was crying.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s embarrassed for a while after their little interlude in the dining room so she gives him his space. She’s watching Leno when he finally decides he’s had enough alone time. He sits down in front of the couch and she’s about to say something about his knees or his back or his age – anything to get him up off the floor – when he pulls her left calf over his shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of her knee.

It’s such an oddly intimate thing to do that she finds herself taken aback when his thumbs stroking the arch of her dangling foot make her giggle. She feels him smile against her skin and figures that it’s all going to be okay.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He is, by far, the most easily affectionate man she’s ever known. He’s always been the type more apt to touch than to not. She likes the way he trails his fingers along the base of her neck when he walks by her. She smiles when he claps Daniel on the shoulder and gives Janet a warm hug. She loves the way he picks Cassie up and swings her around in a wide arc even though she’s too old – and too tall – for such things.

She likes how he very quickly recovers when Natalie introduces the striking blonde by her side as her wife, _Erin_ , and how he warmly shakes hands with Erin first and then Natalie who shrieks with laughter when he surprises her by hauling her into a friendly, familiar hug.

When he refills their wine later – she’s in the middle of a cutthroat Backgammon game with Erin while Janet and Natalie try not talk shop while kibitzing – he threads his fingers into her hair and tugs playfully. He teases Erin and she gives as good as she gets and they exchange a look when they both see the way Natalie’s eyes soften and warm when Erin gives him a little hell.

It’s not until everyone’s crowded around the picnic table eating and drinking, laughing and tossing around three conversations at once that she realizes she’s happy. Here, with these people, with Jack’s warm body pressed against hers from ribs to ankles, she actually does know what happy feels like. And when she meets Natalie’s gaze she knows the doctor can see it too and they smile along to the answer of an oft asked question.

After everyone is gone she cuddles up next to Jack in the hammock and they look at the stars and talk about a future that maybe isn’t so scary and definitely isn’t so painful. And she falls asleep with the feel of his lips in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to the people who help me make this story better – the beta who pinch hits for my common sense all the damn time, the reviewers who take the time to let me know what’s working and what isn’t (and when I’ve goofed and published a typo), and most of all, the readers who make me want to keep showing up.


	24. Secondary Emotion: Optimism

“Why don’t we ever talk about the ice planet?”

He flips the top half of the paper down in front of him. “Antarctica?” he asks over the top of his glasses and around a mouthful of toast.

“No,” she says, exasperated, and shoves her suddenly unappetizing cereal away from her, sloshing milk onto the table. “Jonah and Thera.”

His eyes widen and he swallows the toast that appears to have gone dry in his mouth. He sips his coffee and collects his thoughts. “Why don’t we ever talk about the force-shield or Za’tarc tests? Why don’t we talk about dozens of moments we weren’t supposed to be having?”

“I’m serious, Jack.”

He sits back in his chair and abandons his newspaper. “Because I used to kick myself every day for not taking the opportunity to touch you when I had it.”

“Used to?” She covers up the way her insides quiver from the force of his revelation with false bravado.

“Now we’re here. And I’m thankful that we don’t have to live with some ill begotten gain between us.”

“What if that was our only chance?”

“I don’t think it will be.”

“I’m not optimistic.”

He reaches out and cups her face, smiles when she leans into his hand. “I am.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She’s stretched out in the sun on the back deck. He has a hard time focusing on the grill and not her long, bare legs and silver painted toenails.

“It’s days like this that it would be nice to have a pool,” she sighs contentedly.

“We’ve got room for one,” he says as he flips a steak.   He realizes, out of the corner of his eye, that she’s frozen with her beer halfway to her mouth with a wide, shocked look on her face. Then he realizes what he implied and he grins.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I am so fucking tired of being _broken_.” She drops her laptop bag on the floor in the kitchen and he’s suddenly face to face with a pissed off Samantha Carter that makes him wish there wasn’t a pot of boiling water on the stove.

He’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t when she’s in these moods and he never quite knows which tack is going to make her try to take off his head with the sharp edge of her tongue – not to mention she’s quite a bit stronger these days and he wouldn’t put it past her to try one of those fancy new Judo flips she’s been working on with Teal’c. He finally settles for, “What happened?”

She looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “We had a lockdown at the mountain today. Wow, when you say you’re taking a day off you really mean it, don’t you? You mean they didn’t even call?”

He’s momentarily happy to find that her ire is directed at someone on the base rather than him since she can usually turn around whatever bad moment she’s having as something that’s happening between the two of them. You always hurt the one you love and all of that, he supposes.

Still, and despite how this situation has the potential for her to blame him written all over it, he can’t quite figure how she got from a lockdown to _pissed_ about her mental status. “Since when does a lockdown get your ass on your shoulders?”

“Since I got _trapped_ in the _brig_ , for six _fucking_ hours, _Jack_.”

He actually feels the blood drain from his face. “Oh my god. Were you alone?”

“No, thank goodness. Daniel was with me.”

“Why the hell didn’t they call me?” He’s furious. How is it even possible that something that massive would have happened on the base and he wasn’t called? Okay, so no – the second for the base doesn’t get called every time some team comes back with an alien sand flea, the usual sort of culprit for a lockdown.

All at once his cellphone and the house line spring to life. He stares at Sam and lets them ring. There’s nothing more important than her right now. But she rolls her eyes and picks up the handset off the counter and issues a brusque, “Hello?”

So he pulls his cell out of his pocket and answers it similarly. “O’Neill.”

“Colonel,” Janet rushes forward, “is Sam home yet?”

“She’s standing right in front of me,” he says tersely. “So if this is a sit-rep, it’s past due.”

“It just came to my attention that no one called you.”

Across from him, Sam is breathing heavily and looking angry with the phone still pressed to her ear. “Who is it?” he mouths at her.

“Daniel,” she says, thrusts the phone at him, and flees. Not a fan of phone conversations to begin with, he’s certainly not going to double fist this one.

He simply hangs up on Daniel and tunes back into the doc. “…and by the time I realized, she’d already gone.”

He finds he doesn’t give a single solitary fuck what Janet had just said. “Yeah, well she’s home now. Tell Daniel she’ll call him later.” He presses end and desperately misses the days when you could slam a phone down for effect.

He trails her outside and finds her stalking in circles around the trees that hold up the hammock. He steps in front of her on one of her circuits and she stops, chest heaving, eyes wild. Then she crashes into him. Her mouth is open against his neck – something he’s found she does when her emotions are running high – and her harsh breath moistens his skin. She’s clutching him tightly. A sob wracks her body and then she’s transferring her tension to him as she closes her teeth just one notch past gently against the corded tendons under her mouth.

He hisses – but not with discomfort – and winds his fingers into her hair.   Her tongue laves his skin and he fights the groan that threatens to break free of his throat. He wraps his other arm – the one that doesn’t still have a hand buried in her hair – around her waist and hauls her up against him. She’s hot and trembling, but while she might have her mouth on him, there’s no way to mistake the energy pouring off of her for anything remotely resembling the sexual kind. So he stands there, stalwart, and hopes he’s giving her even half of what she needs.

Later finds them lying in the cool grass underneath the hammock looking at dusk creep across the sky through the crisscross cotton webbing she’s reaching up to twist her fingers in.

Her head is in the hollow of his shoulder and she’s pressed all the way up against him. They’ve been lying this way so long his arm long since went to sleep but he’s not asking her to move. Might not ever ask her.

“It was like being back on that planet even though I knew…”

“I know.”

She smoothes a hand across his chest. “I fell apart.”

“At least Daniel was there,” he remembers they owe the man a phone call that’s hours past due now.

“Yeah. But it means I made the right decision.”

“What decision?”

“About going off world. I can’t ever do another prison, Jack. Not being an asset instead of a liability. If we were out there, I’d have gotten all of you killed today.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“I can’t _not_ think like that.”

“What happened today was gonna happen the first time you found yourself stuck somewhere. I’m just glad you didn’t have to do it alone. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Me too,” she says and sighs against him.

Inside the house an obnoxious beeping starts. Their eyes meet. Just as he realizes it’s the smoke detector she says, “Hey…weren’t you cooking something when I got home?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You’re never going to live that down, you know?” Daniel hands the salt shaker over to Jack when he’s done with it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack grouses. “I had other things on my mind.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” Sam pipes up from her side of the table. “Her hearing is fine, too.”

“Sorry,” Daniel says sheepishly. “I didn’t think you two were paying attention to us.”

“It’s a restaurant, Daniel, not a cone of silence,” Janet laughs.

Sam reaches across the table and covers Daniel’s hand with her own. “But thank you. Thanks for caring and thanks for being with me today.”

He blushes and ducks his head. “Well, yeah.”

“And thank _you_ , Colonel O’Neill, for burning up a pot of boiling water and inviting us out to dinner so I didn’t have to cook tonight,” Janet breaks the tension with a smile.

Jack smiles and shoves a bite of steak into his mouth to dispel laughter but Janet can tell there’s a joke being had at her expense. “What?” she asks with exasperation when she sees Sam and Daniel struggling to contain their mirth.

Jack makes a “come on” gesture with his hands and both Sam and Daniel pull folded twenties out of their pockets and slide them across the table to him.

“What?” Janet asks again this time with ire in her voice.

“You do realize, don’t you,” Daniel leans over and brushes her hair behind her ear with affection, “that you’re the only one at this table who still calls him that, right?”

“Oh for crying out loud,” she says with a laborious exhale but can’t help the grin when her tablemates dissolve into laughter.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I’m going to my house to clean up the glass.”

Jack looks up from his book. “Yeah? Want me to come?”

She shakes her head. “No. This is something I need to do. I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll call me if you change your mind.”

She nods. “I’ll be home in a few hours.” He watches as she slips on her tennis shoes and collects her purse. Just as she’s about to walk out the door he stops her. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” She turns with her hand on the knob.

“Is this…” He’s at a loss for words. He’s both afraid and elated by what this newfound strength might mean.

“What is it, Jack?”

He clears his throat and surges ahead. “Are you ready to go back?”

“Why?” she asks, apparently truly perplexed. “Are you?”

“I’m okay wherever,” he says slowly and after a couple deep breaths.

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay here.”

Tension he hadn’t fully realized seeps out of his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says breathily. “Here’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says with a small, confused smile. “Just a few hours,” she reiterates. “I’ll bring pizza back for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” he says but he waits for her to leave before he releases a shuddery exhale and waits for the adrenaline in his system to level out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She cleans up the glass in her entry and the spare bathroom and is two-thirds of the way down the hallway before it hits her that Jack thought she was doing this so she could leave him.

She drops the trash bag on the floor and grabs her cell phone off the kitchen counter. He answers after only a couple of rings with, “You okay?”

“Jack,” she says in a rush, “I sorry. I didn’t realize what you must have thought.”

“He chuckles. Well, you did take a couple years off my life.”

“I thought we talked about this,” she says leadingly. “I’m not going through the gate anymore and you’re coming _home_ to me.”

He’s quiet for a few moments and she’s fully prepared to leave her project undone and go straight back to him. “I guess I wasn’t sure that conversation meant the same thing to you as it did to me.”

She sighs with exasperation. “Jack, half the time these days I can’t tell you what I’m feeling. I can’t even tell you that everything is going to be okay between us. I’m working on it. But I’m never going to be good _explaining_ how I’m feeling – that’s just not me. I don’t like talking about it. So if you’re worried about something, you’ve just got to ask me, okay?”

“Why do I feel like those were supposed to be my lines?”

“Of the two of us, right now I get to be more screwed up. We can switch later.”

“I dunno, after this I’m thinking maybe you’re not so screwed up.”

“Well, maybe you’re not so screwed up, either.”

“Why Samantha Carter, I think that’s the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to be a high maintenance boyfriend.” She can practically hear the way he grimaces at term.

“Tell me you’re not gonna call me that in public.”

“What, now that I know how much you love it?”

“Are you about ready to come home?”

“Like an hour?” she hedges.

“Don’t stop for pizza. I’ll have it delivered.”

She grins as they hang up. She finds she rather likes his sense of urgency.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They’re sitting on the couch watching a string of shows about how different things are made. He’s got an arm slung around her shoulders and she’s tipped towards him, her knees resting in his lap. After a while he can feel her eyes burning holes in the side of his face. “What?” he says and jostles her a little without taking his eyes off the screen and the – he’ll never admit – fascinating segment on fiberglass boats.

“Kiss me,” she says and completely unspools his brain.

He turns to look at her and finds a determined look on her face. “I’m sorry?”

“I want you to kiss me. We’ve been doing this for how long now? And you’re not going to make a move on me and I can’t make one on you and I just…well, I think you should just kiss me and we’ll get it over with.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Get it over with?”

She huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“So you’re saying you want me to…”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to get out of hand about it or anythi—“

He cuts her off by covering her mouth with his. He figures she’s right – he wasn’t going to make a move on her until she’d made it clear she was ready, and besides, kissing is probably as good a place to start as any, for both the obvious reason as well as the fact that her torturers likely didn’t come close to approximating such an intimacy.

She gasps against his mouth and he groans when she nips his top lip encouraging him to open his mouth for her. And then he’s lost because the only things he’s aware of are the feel of her tongue sliding against his, the rhythmic pressure of her breasts against his chest with every deep breath she takes, and the little pleased sounds she’s making.

The fog starts to clear when her nails scrape against his scalp and her fingers try to tangle in his short hair. He feels her wiggle against him and realizes, despite her earlier justification, things are going to get out of control in just a few seconds.

He wrenches his mouth from hers and is pleased to watch the way she has to pry her eyes open, the way she pants a little through her open mouth, and the wondrous little smile that precedes a breathy, “Wow.” She wipes the corner of his mouth with the pad of her thumb and he doesn’t check the impulse to press a kiss against her flesh just before she pulls away. “Who’ve thought _that_ ’s what we had waiting on us?”

“Oh, I knew,” he says as smugly as he can manage while he’s still trying to catch his breath.

“C’mon,” she argues good naturedly, “of course we’d _want_ to think that, but there’s no way to know.”

“Unless, say, there had been a previous opportunity or two to have tested the theory.”

“I think I’d remember kissing you. Especially if we’re kissing like _that_.”

“What if you didn’t remember anything else about the time during which we kissed?”

He watches as her eyes narrow in thought. “Wait a minute,” she says slowly, “are you saying we kissed during the time loop?”

“What?” he asks defensively. “Are you saying you would have let that opportunity pass you by?”

He watches a cocksure grin slide into place and he finds the confidence sexy. “Hell, Jack, I’m not sure I’d have stopped with a kiss.”

He groans. “You’re trying to kill me. You really are.”

But her musical laugh is worth all personal body checking he’s doing at the images her words provoked. “We should go back to the kissing. The kissing was nice.”

“One more,” she says saucily, “and then ice cream.”

Sounds like a deal to him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s nice, she thinks. She’d forgotten about the pleasant hum that would fill her with the casual kisses and touches in a relationship. She’s surprised, when she remembers how that hum makes her feel a little high, that she waited so long to force the issue with Jack. Regardless, she sure is enjoying the freedom to kiss him when she walks by him.

He enjoys the freedom, too. She hadn’t realized how often over the last few months he must have checked the impulse. He used to put his hand on her shoulder and lean down and touch their temples together. She’s thought it odd and sweet. But now, when he ducks down, he presses his lips to her – usually to her lips but sometimes to other parts.

She likes the feel of his stubble against her cheek and neck; she likes what it says about them, about how they are together – especially when she spent so many years looking at him cleanly shaven in a uniform. Scruffy Jack, in old jeans and t-shirts, makes her almost irrationally happy. It bodes well for the future, she thinks, that every little layer they add makes her feel more secure, makes her feel more ready for what might come next.

She’s not sure yet. She still fights little frissons of fear when she thinks of sex. She likes the idea, generically. But the thought of being pressed between a body and any other surface makes her breath start to come quicker – and not in the pleasurable way.

So for now she kisses him. And he kisses her. And sometimes, just sometimes, she’ll slide her hands over his body just to remember what planes of hard muscle feel like against her palms. And for now, it’s enough.


	25. Secondary Emotion: Contentment

“I’ve really missed this,” she says when he hands over a steaming cup of coffee and snuggles up with her under the quilt on the bench on the deck by the sliding glass doors. She’s half in his lap and he’s wrapped her up tightly with the arm that isn’t responsible for not spilling his coffee. He worries her lips in a kiss that’s languid in the way a foggy grey morning suggests and he likes the way her tongue slips across the flat line of his upper teeth when he catches her off guard.

“You taste like Colgate and Folgers.”

“It’s Crest and Sanka,” he says and kisses the end of her nose.

“It is not,” she says and burrows further into him.

He grins and lets his morning whiskers snag in her hair. He’s been off world for ten days and will be going off again later on, after the sun is high in the sky and they’re both under the mountain; but right now it’s just the two of them and a sunrise that takes his breath away.

One of the things he loves most about Colorado is how cool the mornings are, even in the summertime – especially if those cool mornings drive Samantha Carter further into his chest. She kisses his collarbone through the cotton of his t-shirt, then his Adam’s apple, and then his stubble lined jaw before he’s possessed with the urge to slip his tongue into her mouth once more. It seems like that’s what she was aiming for, though, because she smiles around his intrusive kiss and hums in the back of her throat.

Yeah, coffee, sunrise, cool Colorado morning, and making out with Carter. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When he’s not home she does his laundry so she has an excuse to slip inside his bedroom and take deep breaths of him. She’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if she did the same while he was there but it feels intrusive, somehow, to enter his space while he occupies it. She sits on the edge of his bed to fold his socks and the handkerchiefs she was shocked to discover he apparently always carries – a remnant, he’d said, of lessons taught to him by his grandfather at a young age. The rich, sleepy smell of him floats up around her and, after his sixteen days of missions in the last seventeen, she finds she’s exhausted from the not sleeping so well in a house devoid of his presence.

She wakes up later, several hours if the dusk in the room is any indicator, canted sideways with a lapful of socks spilled onto the comforter and floor and Jack crouched down in front of her – his hand on her cheek and a sweet, wistful, slightly amused smile on his face. “Hi,” he says softly and leans in to kiss her mouth while she blinks blearily.

She sits up and shakes her head to clear the cobwebs. She realizes then that she’s still in his room, was asleep on his bed, has been caught interloping by the man himself. “Oh,” she says, suddenly unsure. “I don’t usually—“

“You think I’m complaining?” he asks with a grin. “I came home to a hot blonde in my bed.”

She feels the flush steal across her face, groans, then flops over to bury her face in his pillow.

He chuckles and rubs her back. “You haven’t been sleeping, huh?”

“Not much,” she mutters into his pillow.

“C’mon. I’ll make some dinner,” he says and pulls her reluctant body from his bed by her hand.

He puts her to work peeling potatoes but spends a significant amount of the time standing behind her with his chin hooked over her shoulder while his thumbs rub circles over her hipbones. He kisses her neck just below her ear and smiles against her skin when she shivers. “You can sleep in my bed, Sam, if it helps.”

She blushes again. “I swear, I don’t usually fall asleep in there.”

“I know,” he says. “But if you don’t sleep when I’m not here, and that helps, it’s okay.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” she finally says after a few more passes of the potato peeler and his thumbs, “but thank you.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How do I invite her into my bed without making her think I’m trying to get something out of her she might not be ready to give me?”

“You’re asking about sex?”

“I’m asking about _sleeping_ , doc,” he says with a grin, “but I like the way you think.”

He settles back into the couch and she studies him. Over the last many months she’s watched as the boundless energy that had always kept him moving, that had always left his hands fidgeting with whatever was within reach, ebbed away. She is faced with a quietly confident version of the tensely strung man she’d met more than nine months before.

“When I got home yesterday I found her asleep on my bed.”

Natalie raises an eyebrow – a language at which she’s found current and prior members of SG-1 quite adept.

“I didn’t think she was sleeping well when I wasn’t home,” he says with a shrug. “She confirmed that. And I told her she could sleep there when I’m not home. But the truth is, I want her in my bed when I’m in it and I don’t know how to say that to her without scaring her.”

“Your rule of thumb over the next long while is going to be to be open, be supportive, be encouraging, be willing to let her set the boundaries.”

“So you’re saying I don’t say anything,” he surmises.

“I’m saying you’re open and honest. Make sure she knows your limits and then don’t push, pressure, or become angry if her limits fall short of yours.”

“I can do that.”

“I thought so. Just remember, a fear of sex doesn’t necessarily indicate a fear of all intimacy. She might be open to sharing your bed if she knew there wouldn’t be pressure for physical intimacy.”

Jack takes a deep breath as if he’s buying time to consider her words. “Yeah. Okay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She looks at her wristwatch as she wraps up her final experiment. She’s shocked to find it’s after eight and Jack hasn’t come around to cajole her home. She closes up her lab and heads to his office to find him bent over a file with his fingers pressed against his temples. “You look cooked,” she observes from the doorway. “You close to done?”

“I wish,” he groans and leans back in his chair.

“Can you do that at home?”

“I dunno,” he says as a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Seems there’s a sweet piece of work that likes my company in the evenings.”

It’s true. She’s found she likes it when they can spend the evening curled up on the couch together, or playing backgammon, or watching the stars through the telescope on his roof or from the softly swinging hammock in the backyard. She’s found she likes it when he’s focused on her. Maybe she’s made him focus a little too much on her, though.

Maybe, she’s made him focus a little too much on her for a little too long. She can feel the tug around her mouth pulling her into a frown of discontent and then watches as his eyes drift from mischievous to confused to understanding.

“Oh no, Carter, get off that train of thought right now.”

“But—“

“No. Hell, Sam, it’s not like I spent that many evenings at home doing paperwork _before_ you came into the picture. I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”

She takes a steadying breath, unsure if she’s grateful or worried that he knows her so well, and shores up her confidence. “How much longer do you need?”

He considers his paperwork. “Half an hour? An hour, tops.”

“I’ll swing by and grab something for dinner. Go home; find the game?”

He groans with a pleasure that warms her from the inside out. “ _That_ sounds fantastic.” His eyes twinkle in that way they do just before he usually kisses her and she finds that she likes associating those two things – not to mention the ability to go back and remember all the times, before they were together, that his eyes twinkled just like that. She likes knowing, if they weren’t on base, that he’d be kissing her right now. She likes knowing he’s the guy who’d rather be at home with her than doing anything else.

“So, closer to half an hour?” she says with a saucy confidence she hasn’t quite worked back up to.

“At this rate,” he says with a wink, “I’m going to beat you there.”

“See you soon,” she says with a smile and squeezes the doorframe the way she wishes she were squeezing his waist, and heads topside to grab some dinner and find a game and wait for her man. Three things she never thought would bring her so much contentment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When he gets home he smells pizza and finds Sam on the couch with a beer and a baseball game. She’s in yoga pants, a big t-shirt that is definitely his and fluffy socks that are too warm for the weather but in deference to her cold nature. He leans against the doorway and, even though she’s got to know he’s watching her, he drinks her in. “Okay, just so you know,” he says when a little grin starts to play around her mouth, “this is really, really hot.”

She turns to him and grins. “There’s pizza in the oven. Hotter now?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re an easy man to please,” she says and kisses him on her way by to the kitchen to retrieve their dinner.

He snags her around the waist and swings her into his chest, suddenly overwhelmed by her. He buries his face in her hair as she presses her cheek into his chest. When she draws back enough to look at his face he watches as the sudden and overwhelming depth of his emotion is reflected in her eyes. And then, just a split second later _overwhelmed_ becomes _fear_ on her face and he lightens his own look with a grin and drops a kiss to the end of her nose, effectively breaking the unintentional pressure he’d put them under.   He releases her then pushes her gently towards the kitchen.

“Pizza, beer, and baseball. What did I do to deserve you?” He says with teasing in his voice but he’s shaking a little when he bends down to take off his shoes.

They dance around each other for the rest of the evening. He’s not sure he knows exactly what happened but he knows something did.

He rests his hands on the tops of her feet since her toes are tucked under his thigh for warmth or contact, he’s not sure which. He likes the way she lays next to him on the couch, propped up on throw pillows, watching a baseball game with him just because he likes baseball, he likes her and he likes the two of those things together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Getting shot was really the very last on his list of things to do. He groans and flops back onto the infirmary bed. “She’s gonna be so pissed.”

“She’s going to be concerned and then relieved,” Janet interjects. “And _then_ she’s going to be pissed.”

“Geez, thanks, Janet.”

She comes barreling into the room, eyes wide and wild, a grimace pulling around her mouth.

“It’s just a graze,” Jack asserts preemptively.

“A flesh wound,” Daniel agrees.

“Please take him home right now,” Janet says with an aggrieved sigh but humor is evident on her face.

Later she fusses over him where she’s tucked him into the couch. Her eyes are shining in that way they do just before she cries. He snags her and pulls her down onto the couch, over his lap. “I’m _fine_ , Sam.”

“This happened because I wasn’t there,” she says and he’s sure even she can hear the irrationality in her words.

“Teal’c was there. Captain Mctierney was there – and he’s the only guy in the place who outshot your record on day-one marksmanship. All of SG-7 was there. This didn’t happen because _you_ weren’t there. It happened because I was going to get shot today.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for being the one that’s left behind.”

“Even if you changed your mind, we’re not going through the gate together anymore. It’s not your job to watch my six. Not anymore.”

“Well apparently the other people are really bad at it.”

“I’ve been injured on your watch too, you know.”

“If you’re going to force me to be logical, this isn’t going to work,” she says but there’s a small smile on her face.

“Am I ruining your pity party?”

“A little bit you are, yes.”

“Samantha,” he drawls and enjoys the way her eyes drop to his mouth. “I’m sorry I got shot,” he murmurs as her lips brush against his.

“Me too.”

They sit quietly for a while, her legs on either side of his, her weight slightly forward on her knees and her backside lightly perched on his, face to face, her hands resting softly on his ribs – the right one just below the graze. She stares at him intently until he finds himself blinking more rapidly than usual to dispel the unusual tension.

“Are you happy?” she finally asks.

His initial reaction is to give a flip answer, or turn the question back around on her, but he can see something in her face that isn’t common to her. He reaches up, threads the hand on his good side through her hair, and rubs his thumb across her bottom lip. “Yeah, Sam.”

She turns her face into his palm.

“I’m happy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He hooks his sunglasses over the neck of his t-shirt and peers into the relative darkness of her garage. “You’re sure we really need this stuff?”

“It’s _my_ stuff, Jack. I’d like to have it.”

“Well yeah,” he says, “but don’t you think you’d rather have the _unpacked_ stuff in your house? I mean, how long have these boxes been in here anyway?” He rubs a hand through a thick layer of dust and reveals the black magic marker writing on the flap of one particularly tattered box. “Does this say ‘Academy papers’? You kept your papers from the _Academy_ in a box in your garage for all these years?”

“You’re not at all impressed that I needed an entire box for my papers from the Academy?”

“Impressed? Sure,” he says with a shrug. “Surprised? Absolutely not.” He grunts when he picks up the box and starts carting it towards his truck.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Teal’c?”

“Teal’c gets a little too happy to see you these days,” he calls over his shoulder. “That sort of thing makes a guy jealous.”

“You’re afraid I’m going to ditch you for Teal’c?”

“No, I’m afraid Teal’c will realize I’m not good enough for you and challenge me to a duel.”

“Do the Jaffa duel?” she asks thoughtfully.

“Seriously? _That’s_ the burning question you’re getting from this conversation?

“What do you mean Teal’c’s too happy to see me these days?”

“It seems,” Jack says with a smirk and plants his dusty hands on his hips, “that Teal’c _misses_ having you on the team.”

She scoffs, “Really?”

“Apparently he was waxing poetic about you to Mctierney.”

“Wow,” she says softly.

“Yeah. Sorta makes you wonder how poetic the Jaffa can get, doesn’t it?” he asks with a grin.

“I miss being on the team too, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nods. “But I like this better.”

“What?” he says and then gestures between the two of them.

“Yes.”

“You’re saying you, _Samantha Carter_ , mistress of the Stargate, and the ballsy-est woman I know, prefer _me_ – a greyed out, soon to be balding and flying a desk airman of nearly 50 who burns everything he puts on a grill – to gallivanting across the Universe?”

“The Galaxy,” she says with a shrug and a small smile, “but yeah.”

“But if we’ve got the opportunity to travel to the far reaches of the Universe?”

“Oh,” she says as her grin widens, “then you’re toast.”

“At least I know where I fit in the grand scheme of things,” but he tempers his pout by pulling her into the circle of his arms.

“Hey, a girl’s got to have her priorities.” She pulls out of his arms and starts wiping the dust off more boxes of scientific research that can make its way into her new offices at the SGC. “You know I haven’t actually met Dylan yet, right?”

“Of course you have,” Jack points out. He’s been at the SGC for over a…” he trails off.

“A year. He came on while I was gone,” she points out helpfully. “But he’s only been on SG-1 for a few weeks.”

Jack considers her carefully and she gets the distinct feeling she’s been examined for fissures. After a few moments he must decide no apparent cracks are in place. “We’ll do dinner at O’Malley’s or something.”

“I’m fine,” she reiterates, just in case he’s faking his acquiescence.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” but he won’t quite meet her eyes.

“Jack.”

He hoists another of the boxes she’d indicated for transport and carries it off to the truck. She allows him his moment to think. When he approaches, she squares up in front of him and looks him in the eye suddenly completely Major Carter and not at all Samantha.

“I’m fine.”

But then she trails a hand down his arm and tangles their fingers together. Samantha now, instead of Major Carter. “Really, babe, I’m fine.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “I just don’t want Mctierney to get the wrong idea. That I sleep with all my seconds or something.”

She can’t help the relieved guffaw at his expense. They’ve both turned back to the boxes when he says, “So… _babe_ , huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Technically,” she says in the voice that always makes him feel a little like a dirty young guy making eyes at his science teacher, “you don’t sleep with _any_ of your seconds.”

He carefully swallows his mouthful of beer. “Um…excuse me?”

“Well, unless there’s something you’re not telling me about Captain Mctierney. Or Kawalsky,” she says with a frown he’s not sure he’s buying.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Earlier you said you didn’t want him to think you slept with _all_ of your seconds. We’re not sleeping together,” she points out. Unnecessarily, in his opinion.

“Sam,” he says with his best much-aggrieved sigh, “whether we’re sleeping together or not, the way I feel about you, hell, the way I _look_ at you…that’s not changing.”

He finds himself with a lapful of grinning, giggling Carter. Yep. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're cool with anything that could possibly happen, stop reading this author's note now and continue on. If there is anything that might stop you from reading (or disappoint you), read the note below with the understanding that minor spoilers occur...
> 
> Author’s Note: As you can probably tell, we’re starting to deal with sexual content between our intrepid heroes. Oh, sure, so far their contact has been mostly benign. But as Jack has broached the subject with Natalie, so will it all come to a head in the final section of the story. The next chapter – Joy – is the final emotion that doesn’t deal directly with physical expressions of love. And, therefore, will be a fine place for readers to end if you’d prefer to not go that route with these characters after the events Sam has dealt with.
> 
> I will wrap up the emotional component of Sam’s journey (sans the final clicks of her relationship with Jack and, therefore, the emotion Love) next chapter for those of you who wish to depart before things get uncomfortably steamy (and then comfortably steamy) between the two of them. Otherwise, if you decide to join us for chapters 27 through 30, be prepared for the story to earn its M rating for something other than violence (or, now that I think about it) sex between character who aren’t the main focus of this story).


	26. Primary Emotion: Joy

She dries dishes while she watches Jack methodically disassemble, clean and reassemble his personal handgun. This is a task he undertakes every other Saturday like clockwork if he’s on-world. She likes the way he looks with precision in his hands. 

He looks up and catches her eye. A slow grin tugs at the corner of his mouth and draws up into his eyes.  “What?”

She cocks out a hip and sets the glass she’s drying down on the counter.  “What kind of plane did you fly?”

“Thuds first.  Then Eagles, mostly.”

“My dad flew a Thunderchief, too!” she exclaims.

He returns her smile and winks. “I know,” he says as he reinserts the spring and slips the slide back into place.  “We had quite a bit of time to kill while you were in the infirmary last year. What did you think we talked about?”

“Well,” she hedges, “…me.”

“We did our fair share of that, too.” He polishes his fingerprints off the barrel.

She hums in the back of her throat and turns back towards the dishes.  Suspecting they’d talked about her and learning they really had done so were two different things and she’s not quite sure how she feels about it.

“Hey now,” he says softly and suddenly she’s enveloped in warm arms and the heavy scent of gun oil, “don’t get like that. It’s not like we were working out a dowry or anything.”

She turns in his arms and tucks her face into his neck, slides her hands across his shoulder blades, and breathes him in. “It’s just strange to think about what people must say about you.  And I worry that you argue.”  He tucks his hands up under the hem of her t-shirt and rests them against the skin of her lower back. She can feel the slight silkiness of the oil and idly thinks it’s nice he didn’t get it on her shirt.

“Carter,” he says slowly, affectionately, “he and I have been known to butt heads, sure, but most of the hard time we give each other is good natured.”  He tightens his arms around her and rubs his thumbs in the indentation of her spine. “I like your dad.” He leans back so he can meet her eyes, “He likes me.  We’re grown men – we’re not going to come to blows over you.”

“I guess I’ve always sort of pictured him finding out about us and rushing to defend my virtue.”

“Sam, take it from me – there’s nothing like watching your kid make someone happy.  And you’ve made me happy since the day you walked into a briefing room and laid out an entire room of half-cocked chauvinists, me included.  I never did a good job of hiding that; I never tried to hide it from your dad.”

“But that picture in your wallet…you said he didn’t like the way I was looking at you.”

“Not because he has a problem with me. Because you were looking at me like you used to look at him.  Because I make you happy, too.”

“You do,” she says and tilts her face up.

He answers her with a kiss.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You know, there’s something wrong with this picture.” Jack stops so his shadow falls across the two women and interrupts their sun.

Sam looks at Janet over the top of her sunglasses. The women grin and make a show of enjoying their drinks – heavily alcoholic drinks if their pink cheeks are to be believed.  “Summer is almost over and the sun feels nice.  Besides, we’d just be in the way,” Sam points out.

“Aren’t these shelves for _your_ books?  And aren’t you some kind of mechanical marvel?”

“Hey, this is therapeutic,” Janet interjects but she sounds a lot less like a doctor and a lot more like a girl than he’s willing to allow when it comes to taking a medical opinion.

“And you guys are doing such a good job.”

“How would you know?  You’ve been out here sipping mai tais and soaking up sun while the three of us guys – who are all apparently wrapped around your little finger – are holed up in a dark room putting up wall to wall shelving.” Even he can hear the smile in his voice, though, so he’s pretty sure she’s not buying his mock irritation.

“It’s a mojito.  And it’s not that dark,” she says wryly.  “I’m the one who installed the new light fixtures.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grouses and snags the sweaty drink out of her hand. He takes a long pull off it and tries to maintain his calm exterior when she wraps a hand around his bare knee and slips the pads of her fingers over the softer skin in the bend.  She coaxes him forward with just the slightest bit of pressure and he drops a kiss to her lips when he presses the drink back into her hand.

Back in the room they’re turning into her library, he sees Teal’c looking very seriously at a level and Daniel looking menacing with a power drill in one hand and a pencil clenched between his teeth. He stands in the doorway taking it all in.

“What?” Daniel says around the pencil before taking it out of his mouth.  “Why do you have a goofy smile on your face?”

Jack just shrugs.  “It’s a good day.”

Daniel grins.  “It _is_ a good day, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Teal’c says without ever taking his serious eyes off the level.  “I believe this will please Major Carter.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Can I borrow your truck?”

He looks up from the papers spread out in front of him and she watches as his eyes take in her well worn tank top and jeans – both that finally fit the figure they’d been bought for – topped off with one of his flannel shirts. 

“That depends,” he says but a small smile plays around his mouth and she knows he’s casting a joke.

“On what?”

“That you’re going anywhere but the hardware store.”

“Uh…” she quirks an eyebrow at him, “what?”

“You?  Looking like that?  Standing _anywhere_ in Lowe’s?

“Again…what?”

He just shakes his head as if to clear it. “Yeah, you can have the truck. Where ya goin’?” He fishes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to her.

She catches them easily.  “The nursery.”

“The flower kind,” he says hesitantly, “right?”

She can’t help but grin.  “Yes, Jack.  The flower kind. The beds in front of the deck look like hell. I’m thinking begonias.”

A smile creeps across his face and he seems lost for words.  Finally she bends down and kisses him, rolls her eyes and heads out.

-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-

She comes back with the bed of the truck filled with little plastic pots of flowers and two sheets of mirrored glass. He’s wary, but he meets her on the porch.

“We’ll plant the flowers later. Will you help me replace the mirrors in the bathrooms at my house?”

“Sure,” he says as casually as he can. She steps into him and he folds her in his arms.

“This is ridiculous,” she says against his collarbone. “It’s time to sell the place, don’t you think?”

Just about the moment his heart starts tap dancing, his stomach starts doing back flips.  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

She shifts from one foot to the other and he feels the slide of her ribs against his.  She’s quiet for long moments so he just stands there with her in his arms. Finally, she speaks in measured tones. “A lot of healing happened in that house.  But all the good stuff happened here.  It happened with you.  I don’t want to go back there.  Not for good. And not when so many of my good memories from over the years happened here and not there.  If we’re…whatever we are…then, this is it, Jack. This is what comes next.”

He lays his head against her hair and breathes in all the words she just said.  “Whatever we are?”

She seems to roll many words around, feeling the edges for the right fit.  “We’re happy, aren’t we?”

If that’s what it is, he’ll gladly take it. For now.  “Yeah, Sam.  We’re happy.”

They maintain their embrace until he says, “And sweetheart,” she pulls back from him and he watches her eyebrow quirk up at the odd endearment – though he likes the way it feels in his mouth he vows not to use it again for at least a while, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s too late in the year to plant begonias.”

“Then why did you let me—“

“Because,” he cuts her off, “it was a really nice gesture.  And you look hot in my truck.”

She rolls her eyes at him and returns to the truck pointedly offloading her plants into the garage.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It only takes three weeks.  She’s bewildered when she hangs up the phone. She’d heard horror stories of how long it could take to sell a house.  But hers is sold in just three weeks.  In three more there will be a closing and that’ll be that.  “Well,” she says with a finality that makes him look up from his crossword with trepidation upon her entrance to the dining room, “I’m officially almost not a homeowner.”

He cracks a grin.  “That was fast.”

“You’re telling me.  We’ve got three weeks to get that place packed.”

Jack groans.  “Please tell me we can hire someone to do the heavy lifting. I’m not as young as I once was.”

“You’re forgetting I’ve seen you save the planet several times, aren’t you?”

“And for that I can afford to _pay_ somebody to do the heavily lifting.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “For that matter, so can you.”

“Hey,” she says playfully.  “I don’t get hazard pay anymore.”

“Well, lucky for you what’s mine is yours, et cetera.”

She cocks her head to the side and a smile itches at her mouth.  “You do know that’s not technically true, right?”

And she watches as he suddenly looks like he’s been smacked by a two by four.

“Oh my god,” she says with a laugh. “Did you honestly forget that we aren’t married?”

“Hey,” he says and she notices he’s blushing, “cut an old guy some slack.  It’s not that I _forgot_ , it’s just that I think of you a certain way.  _That_ way.”

She sits down at the table with him, in the chair adjacent and picks up the hand that’s suddenly intent upon destroying the paper puzzle he’s been working on.  “That is an incredibly sweet thing to say.”

“And a damned embarrassing one.”

“Does that mean you do want to get married or that you don’t?”

“Of course I want to get married!” He meets her eye and then calms a little. “I just always thought I’d _ask_ , you know?”

“So ask me.”

“Why?  You gonna say yes?”

She rolls her eyes and feels like she’s been doing that a lot lately.  “Yeah, I’m gonna say yes,” she parrots incredulously.

“Fine,” he says and smoothes out his puzzle. “I’ll ask.”  And then he studiously returns to his game.

She waits.

He concentrates.

Finally, she’s exasperated, “Well?!?”

“What?” he says and finally looks over at her but she thinks she’s been had.  A smile plays in his eyes just before he winks.  “I can’t ask you now.  It’s supposed to be a surprise, right?  With a ring and everything?”

“Jack O’Neill, I may have to kill you.”

“Patience, Sam,” he mocks and leans over to press a kiss to her lips.  “Would you grab my glasses off my dresser for me?”

She huffs but pushes back from the table. She grumbles all the way down the hall. His room is dark and she turns the lamp on that sits on the corner of the dresser.  His glasses sit just outside the circle of light. Just _inside_ the circle, however, is a navy blue, velvet box. She freezes.  It takes several long breaths but finally she’s able to reach out and open the box.  Inside is a ring that is as beautiful as it is perfectly made for her.

Arms slide around her waist, Jack’s chin appears over her shoulder.  “Hey, Sam? Wanna get married?”

She’d love to answer him, but she’s too busy kissing him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Do you think it’s too soon to get married?” Sam asks.

Janet nearly loses her iced tea through her nose. “Too early for whom?”

Sam thrusts her hand towards her and Janet grabs it in time to focus clearly on the gold band inset with, “Seriously? Is that the symbol for Earth? In _diamonds_?”

“Well,” Sam laughs, “sort of. It’s a triangle and a circle. It’s close.”

“It’s beautiful.  And incredibly cheesy.  _And_ I can’t wait to tell Daniel so he can give Jack exactly as much hell as this deserves.”

Sam pulls her hand back and contemplates her ring.  “I think it’s pretty.”

Janet rolls her eyes.  “It’s beautiful.  Stunning, really.  And that’s the point. Jack O’Neill bought that ring, presumably on his own.”

“And anyway, too _soon_ to get married?  How long have you two actually been together, anyway?”

“I…” Sam pauses and then frowns. “Well, I don’t know. We didn’t actually mark a date or anything.  We weren’t and then,” Sam shrugs, “we were.”

“I can’t decide if that’s the least or most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Janet says with a smirk.

Sam ducks her head and blushes. “Besides, I didn’t mean too soon for Jack and me.  I mean, is it too soon after…you know.”

“Sam,” Janet says and all traces of teasing have left her voice, “it doesn’t matter if it’s been a week, a month or a year. Do you want to marry him? Are you ready?”

“I do,” Sam says quickly and with conviction. “I am.”

“Then you didn’t even have to ask.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On October 26th she comes to him and tells him, unequivocally, that if he so much as _attempts_ to make any sort of fuss over October 27 th she’ll make useless parts of him he’d prefer to have full control over for at least another twenty years or so.

He wants to play dumb but he doesn’t think he’ll ever look at that date on a calendar again without remembering what it was like to realize the body hanging in that cell was alive. That despite everything, he’d gotten to her in time.

Instead, he nods, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then pulls her to his chest with so much force that they tumble backwards onto the couch and he ends up with an elbow in his diaphragm; he doesn’t care.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Jack and I have decided to get married.”

Natalie knows her eyes have widened to comic proportions.  “I’ve gotta say, that’s not what I thought we were going to talk about today.”

Sam grimaces.  “I imagine that’s true.”

“Well, then, congratulations are in order. I’m happy for you guys. I’ve only been around for a year, but from what I’ve gathered this is even longer in coming than I’ve witnessed with my own eyes.”

“I’ve banned him from making today about anything other than telling our friends and coworkers.”

“There’s some conventional wisdom in replacing bad memories associated with this date with good memories of your choosing. But Sam, there’s something you should remember.  While October 27th is the end of the worst period of your life, that’s the day Jack and your friends got you back.  That’s the day they found you alive.  This day is already marked with good memories – even if they come with some bad.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that. Everything about that time, including the day I was rescued, are things I want to forget.  My life will never be the same because of what happened to me.”

“Do you remember what I told you back at the very beginning?”

“You told me one day I’d be me again. That I’d be able to do my job. That I’d be the same woman I was before.”

“Are you?”

“I do a different job now.  I have a different life.  But I am, essentially, the same person.”

“Different doesn’t have to mean worse. It just means different.”

Sam’s quiet so long Natalie wonders what exactly is going on in her head.  Finally, Sam meets Natalie’s eyes and there’s a peace there she hasn’t ever seen. “It’s not just different. It’s better.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When she walks in the house later she hears Daniel’s voice coming from the dining room – the way it does most nights when SG-1 is on world and Sam stays for a late session with Natalie.  Only this time it’s the one-year anniversary of her salvation and the entirety of her old team and her best friend are gathered around her table playing bridge.

She drops her bag on the floor against the wall and pulls up a chair next to Jack.

“We’re not making a big deal out of anything,” he says, lays down a high spade and wins the trick.  It appears he and Teal’c are winning.

“It’s okay,” she says and leans over to press a kiss against his temple. In fact, she marches around the table and kisses each of her guys the same way.  She shares a long hug with Janet and then regains her chair.

“I understand now.  If you want to remember today, that’s fine.  I just don’t want _celebrate_ it or anything.”

Jack grimaces.  “That’s never gonna happen.”

“This has been a really hard year.” She makes eye contact with each of her friends and has trouble maintaining her composure in the face of the obviously strong emotions.  “But it’s a year I didn’t think I was going to have that’s led to a life I didn’t dare to dream about.  There are some things I can’t do anymore and I’ll probably always miss going through the gate. But you guys… You’re my family. And you’re more than enough to make a happy life.”

She looks at Jack – meets his deep brown, kind eyes. “ _You_ are enough to make a happy life.  And I’m glad you made it to me.”

“Why Samantha Carter,” he finally says after visibly collecting run away emotions, “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He cracks a grin at their little inside joke.

“Please tell me you’re not going to be a high maintenance husband,” she plays along.  “I can’t be counted on to come up with anything that good again.”

He cracks a grin.

“I’m not completely better yet,” she says quietly, mindful of their rapt audience.

He sobers.  “I know.”

“But I want to be.  I’ll try to be.”

“Then I’m happy.”

“Me too.” 

 


	27. Secondary Emotion: Longing

**Part VI: Love**

“I think it’s time to talk about what’s going to come next.”

“Sure,” Natalie says easily.  “In what way?”

“It’s…Jack and I are engaged. I need to know how to get over my hang-ups so I don’t have to keep shutting him down.”

“Is he putting pressure on you?”

“No!” 

“But you feel like you keep ‘shutting him down’?”

“Well, I mean…he hasn’t exactly _asked_ for anything…”

“So what’s brought this up?”

“It just seems like sex is the next logical step.”

“From where, Sam?”

“We’re…kissing,” and all of a sudden Sam feels like a teenager.  She groans and buries her face in her hands.  “Why do I feel like I’ve never done this before?”

“Firstly, sex is not the next logical step from kissing.  There are lots of available steps between what you’re doing and where you want to be. And I’d encourage you to stop at all of them.  Not just because they’re healthy,” Natalie says as she reaches out and puts an encouraging hand on Sam’s forearm and waits until she makes eye contact, “but because they’re damn fun, too.

“Take your time, Sam.  You’ve got plenty of it.  And Jack doesn’t strike me as the guy who's going to rush you.”

“He’s not,” she concedes.  “He’s wonderful.  Which is why I feel so bad putting him off.”

“You guys are around 7 or 8 on the Steps of Intimacy scale.  From here, things progress pretty seriously, pretty fast.  I’m going to give you a book.  I want you to look through it.  You can decide which step you’re on and if you skipped anything important you might want to go back to.  But take your time. Explore those remaining steps when they feel right.  And you’re going to be fine. But talk to him along the way. Tell him what you’re feeling. Trust him to help you. That’s all he wants to do, Sam, is help you.”

“I’m definitely not ready yet.”

“But you _want_ to be ready.  And Sam, that’s really something.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A commercial comes on and she stares mindlessly at an ad for a laundry detergent she says doesn’t work – at least, that’s what she said the last time he brought it home.  “Hey,” he says and jostles her feet with the hand that had only been offering warm pressure before.

She looks at him and smiles lazily. “What?”

“What if I wanted something but wasn’t sure how to ask you?”

She tenses a little under his hand and he strokes her soothingly.  “What is it?” she asks.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. I don’t know if I should ask you because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

She seems to consider him carefully – the way he’s seen her look at a broken crystal in a DHD – and then decides. “I think I’d want to know what you want to know.”

He nods.  “Okay. Well, let me start by saying it’s okay if you want to say no.  I won’t be mad or upset.”

“This is sounding pretty ominous.”

“Not ominous.  Just…important.”

“Okay,” she drags the word out with her confusion.

He strokes his hand up her shin, carful to not wrap his hands around her ankle the way he did one time that made her instantly pull back and away from him with apologies and hurried words about shackles. “I offered you my bed when I’m not in it, to maybe help you sleep when I’m away.”

She nods, eyes wide.

“I want to offer you the same, when I’m in it, too.”

She exhales loudly.  “You mean, sleep together?”

“Yeah.  What do you think about that?”

She’s quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t mean tonight, Sam.  I mean think about it.  Think about how you’d feel about it.”

She relaxes under him.  “I will.  I’ll think about it.”  She offers him a tentative smile.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A week later she ends a kiss almost as soon as it begins and he realizes she’s been doing that for a few days, at least. “Everything okay?”

“Sure,” she says flippantly.  “Why?”

He decides to try out his powers of clairvoyance and hope for the best.  “I meant it when I said you can say no.  But I also meant _sleep_ together. You’re not ready for,” he pauses for just a moment and curses his discomfort, “sex.”

“But you are,” she says.  “And it’s not fair to you.”

“I also meant it when I said I didn’t care about the sex.”

She raises an eyebrow and he really wishes Teal’c hadn’t taught everybody to communicate that way. 

“I’m serious Sam.  I like sex.  I _love_ you.  No matter what, I’m marrying you – you’re not getting out of that.” He pauses to smile at her. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat and if I’ve got to spend the next thirty years getting myself off then that’s the way it is.”

“But it’s not _fair_ ,” she says strongly as if he doesn’t understand.

“I think I’m the best judge of what I find fair.”

“Eventually you’ll resent me.”

“Says who?”

“Says common sense,” she fires at him.

“Okay,” he relents.  “Clearly we’re not ready to have this conversation.”

“And I’m not ready to get in your bed.”

He raises his hands in supplication. “Fine.  But it’s an open invitation.  And in the meantime, I _miss_ you.”

She steps into him.  “I’ve missed you, too.”  She presses her mouth against his and kisses him languidly, the pressure he’d apparently applied gone for the moment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Later she lies in an otherwise empty bed and thinks about the look on his face when he told her he loved her. So guileless was he, so sure and unapologetic, so open and so very forthright, she wasn’t quite sure what to do.  She did nothing; he didn’t seem to mind.  They’d kissed, slowly, deeply, made up for the time she’d been denying them all week. He didn’t push her. Or rush her.  He didn’t pressure or cajole her.  He seemed to be, as he’d promised, neither mad nor upset. He truly meant not to influence her decision. 

And so maybe she can feel the way his pulse thrums when they touch.  And maybe he gets aroused when they kiss for a long time.  But his arousal isn’t insistent; it is, simply, a part of him he seems willing to appreciate yet mostly ignore. 

She considers it all quite carefully, actually.

Minutes later, when she slips into bed next to him, he merely puts his book on the bedside table, threads his fingers through hers and turns out the light.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He wakes with her next to him. Face down on the bed, turned towards the other wall, still her hand is flat on his chest over his heart. He covers it for a moment, then slips out of bed without disturbing her. 

When he’s done in the bathroom, he can’t help but stand in the doorway and watch her laid out across the bed as she is. Her hair, finally in something resembling the style she’d had when they met, in a tangled golden halo around her head.   She sleeps in a tank top and he can see the muscles of her arms and shoulders, clearly defined. She looks healthy. Strong.  She looks exactly like the woman he’s pictured in his bed for longer than he’d care to admit to.

He realizes everything he’s told her is true. He wants her.  He does.  It’s a strong and yearning ache inside him, the need to share with her everything about the way he loves her.  But if this is it – if this is all she can give him – it’s still more than he ever thought he’d get and he’s fine. 

He sits down on the bed next to her, in the bend of her waist, and trails his fingertips down the indentation of her spine. She stretches like a cat underneath his hand and curves her body around his hip.  “Good morning,” she purrs.

He trails his fingers down her newly exposed arm from shoulder to wrist.  “I like touching you in the mornings.  You’re all warm and soft.”

“Jack O’Neill,” she says with a smirk, “that was an incredibly sappy thing to say.”

He grimaces at her.  “Here I am trying to be nice and you’re giving me hell.”

She curves around him further and presses a kiss to his leg close to his knee.  “You’re right. It was very nice.”

“We’re going off world today to retrieve SG-19. I’m going to be late coming home.  I don’t want to startle you when I come to bed.”

“It’s been a week,” she says with a yawn. “I’m used to you moving around.”

“Okay.”  He leans down and kisses her hairline, now fully aware that she won’t kiss him until she’s brushed her teeth.  “I’m getting in the shower.”

“I’ll make coffee,” she says but closes her eyes and snuggles deeper into the warm bed.

He smiles and leaves her be, perfectly content to leave Samantha Carter in his bed for a few more precious moments.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She hates to admit it but she really does sleep better in his bed – even when he’s off world.  His retrieval mission turned into an overnight when Daniel noticed some interesting MALP readings that led them off on a seven-klick hike during which Mctierney sprained his ankle.  She only heard the story second hand through Janet but she hears Daniel has digital photos of the young Captain being carried by Teal’c.  

She rolls over into the cool space on Jack’s side of the bed and pries her eyes open.  It’s early morning she can tell by the way the shafts of light hit the place where the ceiling and walls meet.  She looks over at the clock on his bedside table – set ten minutes faster than hers that is set correctly – because even though he knows it’s fast, the jolt forces him to spring out of bed.  Not that he’s springing out of bed so much these days she thinks with a sly grin. No, these days he’s much more likely to find her and pull her into him, fitting their bodies together like puzzle pieces.  He doesn’t push her, but he likes to stroke her skin and let his fingers play across the places that are creased from the sheets.

She can almost feel her skin tingle in memory of the fingers that aren’t there to stroke her. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He hadn’t counted on the way sharing a bed with her would affect the intensity of his feelings for her.  Something about the vulnerability, maybe, of sleeping next to someone, he supposes.   His desire to be with her – to touch her – is like a living thing inside him. It reminds him a little of those early days when he’d just moved himself into her house and her life, when she was still fragile, and he’d been detained off world when some stupid scientist couldn’t figure out how to properly use a compass. He remembers the very real feeling of being ready to climb out of his skin to get back to her.

This time it’s been a low-grade hum inside him since he stepped through the gate at the beginning of the mission. A little tingle of awareness that he was leaving something behind for the first time in too long. A crackle in his blood that didn’t dissipate until he returned through the gate and saw her standing there in the control room, her blonde hair like fire around her face. The nervous energy that had propelled him forward for the last two days seemed to finally level out. He was home and they were both okay.

In bed that night he holds her to him, slides his hands down all the warm planes of her skin, breathes her in, kisses her shoulder because he likes the way it makes her tremble in his arms. When he feels his body start to fill and swell in the places she’s not ready to deal with yet, he pulls his hips back away from her and presses her into his chest.  He enjoys the ache in a way that makes a younger version of him want to laugh with derision.

He feels when she drifts off to sleep, the way her breaths deepen and make the hairs on his arm flutter.  She hums in the back of her throat and tucks herself back into him fully, fitting her hips snugly against his.  And he figures maybe they’re going to be all right.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He cusses at the lawnmower he insists on fixing even though she could probably do it in half the time with a quarter of the swearing. It’s the last mow of the season and he’d be damned if he was going to be bested by a Toro, or so he’d said. So instead she stands at the kitchen window and laughs every time one of his creative curses filters into the house. After forty-five minutes she takes him a cold beer and wraps herself around him, soaking herself in the smell of gasoline, motor oil and Jack.  Somehow they end up in too-tall grass, a pile of people not giving a tinker’s damn about the lawn mower.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She feels a pull nearly all the time. If she’s not touching him, there’s a pressure in her chest she’s hard pressed to accurately describe. It’s not the same feeling she remembers as desire but it’s something near it.  She remembers what she used to feel like when being close to him made her want to claw out of herself with wanting him.  She remembers what it felt like to grow aroused.  This isn’t that.  But it’s better in some ways, worse in others.  Worse in the ways that make her wonder if she’s ever going to touch him and want him inside her – in the physical sense.  Not in the way he’s already inside her.

Already he’s inescapable, he’s so far inside her head and her heart that she’s not sure how she lived without him before. She’s not sure she’ll know how to live without him if it comes to it.  And knowing that living without him is a very real possibility scares her. It scares her into forcing herself to forge physical connections she’s not quite ready for.

“It’s okay to fake it,” Natalie says again and again.

“I’m not _faking_ anything,” Sam points out.  “We’re not sleeping together.  Well, not _sleeping together_ ,” she clarifies vaguely.

“I’m not talking about orgasms, Sam,” she says once with a kind smile.  “I’m talking about confidence.  If there’s anyone you can safely practice on, it’s Jack.”

“He deserves the real thing.”

“Yeah,” Natalie says, “he does. But you’re not deceiving him. You’re trying.”

“I want to want him.”

“Good.”

“So why can’t I let him touch me like I want him to? Like he wants to?”

“It’ll take time, Sam.”

“It’s been a year,” she says, frustrated. “How much longer to I have to fucking wait?”

“You’ll be ready when you’re ready,” Natalie says cryptically.  “The block is inside you. We just need to figure out where it is and why.”

“Well, find it already!”

“I can’t find it without you. You’ve finally got a reason to find it. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  In the meantime, you keep faking it.  One day you’ll look up and realize you’re not faking it anymore.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s surprised when she corners him in the kitchen when she gets home from her session with Natalie.  Daniel, Teal’c, Janet and Mctierney are in the dining room and have dealt him out of a round of poker that they’d decided to play when instead of just Daniel the entirety of their group of friends had showed up one by one on his doorstep that evening.

She kisses him in a way she’s never quite allowed. Her hands are doing interesting things sliding across his chest and abdomen and he can feel the way she presses her breasts against him in a wanton way he’s always dreamed about. He grows hard against her and she doesn’t pull her hips away from his and he can’t pull away from her since she’s literally got him against the wall.  Her tongue slides against his and he finally shakes off his shock to give as good as he gets.  She sucks on his tongue when he gets it into her mouth and she swallows his groan.

An amused, “Oh,” in a soft, feminine voice forces his eyes open and over Sam’s shoulder he sees Janet smirk and back out of the kitchen.  But Sam’s ardor doesn’t cool.  Hell, she doesn’t even miss a beat.

They’ve done a lot of kissing in the past several months but never once have they done anything like this.  The way she’s touching him isn’t doing anything for his resolve. After another deep kiss he can feel all the way to the soles of his feet, she pulls far enough away to pant into his ear.  “I really want to want you, you know that, right?”

He can’t help but smile against the shell of her ear then kiss her there.  “I’m glad. Because I really want you to want me, too.” He takes a chance and presses his hips into hers.  “But until then, you need to go play my hand because I’m going to need a minute.”

She chuckles and presses a sweet kiss to his lips. “Take your time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. 

When she leaves the kitchen her step is lighter than he’s seen it in a long time.  Maybe this is the start of something new.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He stops hiding how much he wants her. He never apologized for it, but he’d pull away for fear of scaring her with it.  Now, when he wants her he makes sure she knows. She’s bolder, too, in the ways she kisses him, the ways she touches him.  It feels sometimes like she’s just going through the motions but he lets her. Practice does, after all, make perfect and he _really_ likes practicing with her.

She doesn’t hide from him anymore, either. He wants to groan with irritation when she decides to, for the first time, change into her pajamas right there in their bedroom while he’s awake in the bed.  With her back to him, she shrugs out of the button up shirt she’s wearing and its descent from her shoulders to the floor pulls his gaze up from his book.  He’s presented with acres of pale, alternatively smooth and scarred skin interrupted by deep wine colored bra straps.  The color does really amazing things for the pink tones in her skin and he finds he’s so focused on her skin that he’s almost missed her fingers reaching for the clasp of her bra. Until, that is, she unhooks it and shrugs her shoulders once more to dislodge the garment.  And while he’s seeing less of her than he’s seen before he find that the intimacy of the act of watching her dress for bed is rocking him to the core.

She slips her tank top over her head and wiggles out of her pants.  He grins at her ass since she can’t see him and he likes the way the deep red lace that matches her discarded bra allows hints of her pale skin to show through.

“You know,” he says as conversationally as he can muster, “you look really good in those underwear.”

She throws a casual look over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you know you look good,” he says.

She grins but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wish I didn’t have the scars.”

“Me too,” he says and beckons her over, surprised when she doesn’t hesitate and don the flannel pants she’s holding, “but I don’t care that you’ve got ‘em.  You know that, right?”

She turns around and he’s momentarily sidelined by the strip of skin that shows between the hem of her top and the top of her underwear.  But then he’s eye to thigh with her and realizes she’s standing next to his side of the bed. He slides over a bit and pats the space he’s created.  She sits next to him. “Are your scars keeping you from wanting to…” he gestures between them.

She smiles gently.  “No, Jack.  I believe you when you say you don’t care.  Yeah, I was prettier before I had them, but I can’t change them.”

“You have never been more beautiful to me than you are now.”

“Well, thank you,” she says, “but you sort of have to say that.”

He starts to object but catches the impish glint in her eyes.  “I’m serious,” he says.

“So am I.  Yes, the scars bother me but not _that_ much.  In a way,” she says and reaches for his hand, threading their fingers together, “those scars are the reason we get to be together.  So I can’t hate them completely.”

He tugs her down to kiss her and a few moments later they’re curled up together in the bed.  Her flannel pajama pants lay forgotten on the floor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning when he glides his hand down her ribcage, over her lace-clad hip and to her bare thigh, she feels a lightning strike deep inside her that sends tingles out to her fingers and toes and ends with an ache low in her belly.  She gasps and his eyes fly up to hers.  His eyes are warm and gentle but she knows without a shadow of a doubt hers are anything but gentle and have crossed from warm to smoldering.

She watches realization dawn in his eyes and he whispers just before he breaks her rule and kisses her.  “God, Sam, I want you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Research for this story began on May 19, 2010. That, folks, is how long a story like this – for me – takes to come to fruition. Now we’ve begun the last section of this story and I find myself getting nostalgic for all the things I could have done with it. I’m wishing I’d written it differently. I’m wishing it were longer. 
> 
> That said, I’m so glad I’ve written it the way I have and that it *isn’t* longer because I’m pretty sure some of you would have hunted me down for that – especially during those early, really rough chapters when many of you were ready to pull your hair out over the slow evolution of Sam’s recovery.
> 
> Mostly, though, I’m thankful I’ve left so much creative room in this Universe for supplemental stories because I’m getting quite sad to think of leaving this behind. So please, continue to indulge me for four more chapters of this (increasingly fluffy) tale. After that we’ll come back around to things that deserved more detail and consideration. Because really, at this point, I just can’t not write more.


	28. Tertiary Emotion: Arousal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Yeah. So this chapter managed to take on a life of it’s own… 
> 
> Sex-like stuff follows. I mean…you saw the chapter title. Right?

“We should talk about the Steps of Intimacy,” Natalie says to a visibly uncomfortable Jack O’Neill.

“I’m familiar with how it’s done, doc,” he tosses with false confidence.

“I’m sure,” she says wryly, “but I’m talking about the Twelve Steps of Intimacy.  The ones Sam has to deal with – the ones _you_ have to deal with – now before it’s wise to move on.

“Sam doesn’t really like to talk about sex. Well, except to keep telling me she’s not ready to have it and that I deserve to be having it.”

“Well,” Natalie shrugs, “you _do_ deserve a sexual relationship if you want one. We all do.”

“I _want_ Sam.”

“You’re allowed to want both, even if she’s not ready to give you both.  You know that,” Natalie asks gently, “right?”

“I don’t want to do anything that’s going to make her uncomfortable.  And I don’t want to do anything that’s going to make her run.”

“Are you worried she’s going to run?”

“Natalie, she’s physically run from me before. Hell yes, I’m worried about it.”

“That was quite a while ago.  She’s in a very different place now.”

He sighs heavily.  “So now we get a twelve-step process?”

Natalie can’t help but laugh. “Well, in a manner of speaking…yes.” She hands him a pamphlet. “I’ve given Sam a book you might want to look at.  But this is the Cliff’s Notes version.”

He accepts the paperwork with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“ _Talk_ to her about it.  Stop telling her you don’t care about sex.  She knows it isn’t true. She knows you’re willing to wait. It’s time to level with her, Jack. She’s strong enough. She can take it.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I want to do all of the steps. In order.”

“Okay,” he says.

“I mean, I know we’ve already done some of them…years ago…but—“

“Okay,” he says again, very patiently with a hint of a smile.

“I think it’s important.  _Natalie_ thinks it’s important…”

He smiles fully and reaches out, palms her upper arms and then runs his hands down until he can grasp her hands. “Do you not hear me agreeing with you or were you just prepared for an argument?”

“I…well…I don’t know,” she finally says, deflated.

“It’s fine.  We can do this any way you want.”

“It’s just…I’ve already made you wait so long…”

“Sam, there’s no use even trying until you’re ready. We’ll take this slowly. Do I want you?” He waits until she screws up the courage to meet his eyes.  “Hell yes, I want you.  I’ve wanted you since I met you.  But I can wait.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

He huffs with anger and aggravation. “Stop.  Stop saying that.  I know you feel that way.  You’ve made that very clear. What you don’t seem to understand is that _I_ don’t feel that way. I don’t know why you have so little faith in my ability to love you because I damn sure have done everything I can to show you.  I know I’m not the most traditionally emotionally available guy, but I didn’t get here without being able to accurately identify my own feelings.  Hell, I was able to accurately identify how I feel about you. Why can’t you trust me on this, too?”

She’s dumfounded.  He’s right.  And she’s not sure she’s ever heard him ever string that many words together on any subject, let alone something that was so personal and emotional. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to trust me. Trust me to love you right, Sam.”

She tears up as his features soften. “I’m trying.  God, Jack, I’m _trying_.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So we’re just supposed to…touch?”

Sam trails her finger down the page in the book open on her lap until she gets to the section she’s looking for. “Touch with the intent to arouse.”

“You really don’t have to try very hard, you know that, right?”

She chuckles but the tension is riding high in her shoulders.  He reaches out and trails a finger down the side of her face.  “Hey,” he says softly, “we stop as soon as you need to.”

“This is just Step Nine.  Remember?”

“More or less second base,” he recites, “got it.”

“Well, _less_ of second base.”

“Over the clothes,” he says with a nod. “No problem.”

“Geez,” she groans and tips over to bury her face in the back of the couch.  “This is ridiculous.  I _feel_ ridiculous.  Do you feel ridiculous?”

“Sam,” he laughs.  “Everybody’s got to start somewhere, right?”

“It’s just… we did the first eight all in one go and that was so easy.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “we’ve been doing most of the first eight for years.  I’ve never touched you intimately.  Well,” he grimaces, “not on purpose.  Never even to cop a cheap feel,” he says with a wink.

She laughs at that and her shoulder settle a little. “We should talk about how far this is going to go.  That way, if I don’t _have_ to stop we still know where we’re stopping.  To, you know, align our expectations.”

“Sweetheart,” he gives himself a mental high-five when she doesn’t really frown at the endearment – though he thinks it probably has something to do with the fact that this time he said it like Bogie and he’s yet to meet a woman that didn’t want at least a _little_ Bogart in her man, “I think you’ve had your head buried in that book for too long.”

“Jack!” she says, exasperated.

“Okay, okay, align my expectations.”

“Kissing and hugging are okay,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Good,” he says, “because I think the ship’s pretty much already sailed on that one.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Hands are okay.  Above the waist and over the clothes,” she cautions with a raised finger and warning eyebrows.  “But nothing that would be considered foreplay.”

“Pshaw.  I wouldn’t even _dream_ of foreplay.”

“Jack.”

“Okay,” he says.  “Okay.  In all seriousness. Kissing.  Hugging.  I’m going to get all fresh with your sweater and the parts that fill it out so nicely. I am not going to touch any skin I can’t already see or anything below your waist.  As a matter of fact, you _have_ no _below the waist_. Neither do I.  I’m going to touch you with the intent to arouse. You’re going to touch _me_ with the intent to arouse but you’re not going to have to deal with any of the physical reality of that arousal.” He quirks an eyebrow at her. “That sound about right?”

“Could you make it sound any less romantic?”

Finally he just rolls his eyes at her. “Samantha?  Come here.”  He reaches out and wraps his hand around the nape of her neck and pulls her forward. By the time their lips meet, she’s smiling. He kisses her softly, sweetly, until the fanciful tip of her lips is chased away when he slants his head and then her mouth is open under his and he’s stroking her tongue with his and she makes that little mewling sound in that back of her throat that is completely unintentional but most certainly has the power to arouse him.

Her sweater is soft beneath his left hand. Some sort of cute, fuzzy animal-soft and he alternates his touch so the fibers tickle his fingers or he’s digging his fingers into the softness of Sam beneath the fabric. She sucks in a breath when his fingers skim along her bottom rib, then she giggles when he trails his fingers down the ridge of her spine.

She does this thing with her nose to make him tilt his head in the other direction and then she’s in control of the kiss and running her hands across the planes of his chest.  He lets her push him back a little so she’s leaning over him, entirely in control of the situation, when he crooks his finger and uses his knuckle to draw small patterns on her belly.

She sucks in her breath and the muscles quiver beneath his hand but she doesn’t stop kissing him – doesn’t even falter – so he figures it was either a tickle or arousal but probably not fear. So he chances it and runs his knuckle up to her sternum.  Still okay, if the way she sucks his tongue into her mouth when he tries to retreat is any indication.

He tilts his chin up and forces her back into the submissive role of the kiss.  She pouts a little against his mouth and he can’t help but smile.  “Oh no.  You don’t get to be in charge of all of this.”

“But I was enjoying that.”

He likes the breathy sound of her voice. “Me too,” he says. “But I’m pretty sure I’m going to enjoy it all.”

“Then you should let me…” but she doesn’t finish and just reasserts herself.  _Oh well_ , he thinks and takes the opportunity to try that knuckle thing again only using their more reclined positioning to run his knuckle all the way up between her breasts. 

She exhales a soft, moist, “Uh,” into his mouth and shifts a little so his knuckles brush against the inner swell of her right breast and all of a sudden he’s perfectly fine with letting her be in complete control of the situation because he wouldn’t have touched her like this so quickly. She shifts again and he finds himself dragging his fingertips down the outer swell of that breast and she’s grabbing the front of his shirt and leaning back until she’s beneath him and they’re trying to figure out where all the legs go – he’s trying to figure out where his dick _can’t_ go – and he’s balancing above her and then Jesus, Mary and Joseph he’s got a palm full of Samantha Carter’s right breast and he can tell she’s wearing a lace bra just because of the way the sweater catches on the fabric and not because he watched her put it on that morning with her back to him.

He thumbs her nipple and rips his lips from hers. He presses their foreheads together and they breathe damply into the small space between them. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she breathes and pushes her breast farther into his hand.  “ _You_ okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says right into her mouth because he can’t _not_ be kissing her anymore.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

With all the planning and negotiations that had gone into Step Nine, he’s blindsided several nights later – after more heavy petting sessions that were a raging success – when she’s standing right outside the bathroom door when he opens it after his shower.

“I just have to,” she says and then leans forward. The next thing he knows the flat of her tongue is against his chest swiping away a drop of water and he’s suddenly wishing he was wetter and also wearing more than a towel.

He groans and she scrapes her bottom teeth against his skin. “So, Step Ten it is…”  She switches sides and he hisses when her tongue catches the edge of his nipple. “Sam, you should let me get dressed.”

“Dressed would probably make it more difficult to do the whole mouth-to-chest thing, don’t you think?”

He grabs her shoulders and pushes her back reluctantly. “Pants, at least.”

She looks down as if she’s just realized he’s standing there wrapped in terrycloth.  “Oh.” And then she takes in the way he’s already starting to tent that terrycloth – almost fifty can kiss his ass, thank you very much – and her eyes widen.  “ _Oh_.”

“With the intent to arouse, right?” he says and can’t help but smile at the way she apparently can’t help but look.

“Take it off,” she says.  And suddenly any playfulness that was in her eyes is gone.

“Sam,” he starts but she cuts him off.

“No.  Really. Take it off.”

“This isn’t part of Step Ten is it?” he asks with confusion.  “I mean, we’re just supposed to do the whole mouth to chest thing…right?”

“There’s no step for looking. Just touching. And I need to look.”

He steers her backwards and sits down with her on the edge of the bed.  “Okay. But let’s talk about this first.”

“I just realized what they meant by _with intent to arouse_.  It’s not just about _knowing_ I’m turning you on it’s about turning you on on-purpose.”

“Is that not what you’ve been doing?”

She shakes her head.  “Not really.  I mean, I know it turns you on when we kiss.  And when you touch me.”  She reaches up and brushes the backs of her fingers across one damp pectoral muscle. “When I touch you,” she looks pointedly down at his lap where he twitches beneath the towel at the sound of her voice and feel of her hand.  “But knowing about it and _doing it_ are two different things.”  She leans forward and kisses his chest, right over his heart, warmly and chastely but his body isn’t differentiating types of touch right now.  “The reality is, Jack, you don’t scare me. The idea of sex with you…doesn’t scare me.  That,” she points at his half-erect penis, “scares me.

“So,” she says matter of factly, “I think I need to just…deal with it. Face it head on, you know?”

“So to speak,” he says and can’t help the wry grin.

“So to speak,” she says with an answering smile.

Without overthinking it, he tugs the towel so it’s no longer secure, pulls it out from under him and tosses it to the floor. And then he sits patiently while she scoots back and puts more than an arm’s reach between them. He supposes he can’t blame her.

She starts by studiously meeting his eyes. “Thank you,” she says softly and he smiles crookedly and hopes she takes that as encouragement.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She forces herself to focus first on the non-sexual features of his naked, aroused form.  The way his eyes are slightly worried but soft and open.  The scar on his shoulder from the time the alien ball pinned him to the wall.  Various other scars and marks that pepper his upper body.  The flat, brown nipples and golden and grey hairs on his chest. 

The lines on his belly where the skin tucks as he sits, the stab wound scar high on his thigh, the way his chest hairs follow a line down his abs and fade to silver pubic hairs.  She acknowledges his penis – the length of it, the girth, the way he’s mostly hard and growing harder under her scrutiny. She notices things like the color of his skin and that he’s circumcised but she’s careful to think of it as nothing more than a penis.  As a part of his anatomy that has no function.

She realizes, idly, she’s never looked at a nearly fifty year old man when he was naked and finds that she always thought of it as older than it is.  That Jack’s body isn’t all that different than the thirty-three year old man she’d seen naked last, if you discount the grey hair.

She makes a scientific comparison between what frightened her before and this moment.  She reflects on the differences between Jack and the giant Jaffas. Many were frighteningly large where Jack is thinner, shorter, and far less intimidating.  The Jaffa were dark like molasses and Jack is like the last rays of moonlight that tangle with the sun. 

She considered his penis again but this time as something sexual, as something he wants inside her.  No, as something _she_ wants inside her.  The idea is less abstract than she is really comfortable with.  But this is _Jack. Jack’s penis_. Jack isn’t going to hurt her. He wants to love her. To make her feel pleasure.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He works to not clench his hands into fists as she stares at him.  It’s difficult to accept her calculating gaze but it doesn’t diminish the arousal he was feeling before or the thrill of sharing this incredibly personal moment with her.

He’s never sat with someone, naked and aroused, knowing that the situation wasn’t leading to sex.  It’s oddly intimate to give her control of everything and allow that she isn’t going to give him anything or take anything in return. They are simply going to be together in this moment while she comes to terms with the idea of his body finding pleasure with her body at some undetermined point in the future.

He feels the height of his arousal pass. Normally he’d turn from her as he softened, embarrassed as his penis relaxes against his thigh, but he finds it fitting and maybe a little helpful that she is able to see him – the potentially problem-causing part of him, in a completely harmless, vulnerable way.

When it is clear his ardor has cooled completely, she slides closer to him until they are pressed together from naked hip to jean-clad knee.  “Thank you,” she says softly.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs one shoulder. “But I’m still sitting here.”

“Yeah,” he lays his hand on her leg, just above her knee, “you are.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After that he doesn’t worry as much about whether or not he’s dressed when she walks into the room.  He doesn’t necessarily shut the bathroom door when he showers. And if he wants to strip off a dirty shirt in the living room, well, he does.  He figures the hard part for her has been breached and now repetition is key to proving that nudity doesn’t mean she’s about to be violated.

But still he sleeps in a t-shirt, careful to ensure she doesn’t awaken to bare skin she’s unprepared for in the middle of the night.  Until, that is, the night that the heater is on the fritz and it’s eighty-five degrees at midnight and he’s pretty sure he’s melting.

He groans and flips the blankets off of them. Sam's skin is dewy, too, but she looks a lot more comfortable in her tank top and panties than he is in boxers and a t-shirt.  “Damn it,” he grouses, “that’s _it._ That. Is. It!”

He sits up and strips off his t-shirt. Next to him, Sam chuckles. “I don’t know why you didn’t do that earlier.”

“I’ve been _trying_ to be polite.  But I’m sorry, Sam, it’s just too damn hot.”

“It’s fine,” she says sleepily. “And I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t want to fix it tonight?” he wheedles.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” she yawns. “I need parts from the HVAC place and they don’t open until seven.”

“I’m gonna go take another shower. A man shouldn’t be sticky in November, Sam.  It’s just not right.”

She scoots closer to him and lays a proprietary hand on his chest.  “Or,” she says suggestively, “we could try the mouth to chest thing again.”

“I don’t know, you’ve been sounding pretty tired. And last time I ended up naked, so, wait.  Never mind. I think we should try again.”

“Keep your shorts on, buster,” she says. There’s only one kind of hot tonight and that’s not going to be it.”

“Sam, any time you touch me it’s hot.”

“Sweet talker,” she says but her words disintegrate into a gasp when his hand slides up her back under her tank top. And that’s when he realizes that making out with her while horizontal is one thing and making out with her while they’re in their bed, half dressed, _and_ horizontal is another thing entirely.

She’s doing her level best to keep up her end of mouth-to-chest but he just can’t stop kissing her.  The silk of her lips, the clash of their teeth, the feeling of her bare thighs against his and the way she’s not backing away from the suddenly raging and aching hard-on she keeps brushing up against are creating the perfect storm and before either of the fully realize how far they’ve taken it, he’s skimmed one hand up her ribcage between her silky skin and cotton tank top and pushed the garment over her head and _damn_ if her breast isn’t even more perfect in his hand when he’s finally able to touch her skin. 

She feels like silk in most places, satin in others as he recalls the scars he saw in the mirror so long ago now, and diamond in a couple places so he draws patterns on his palm with her nipple just because he can.

He can’t see her, really, but he can damn sure feel her and she’s arching into his hand.  The hand she has tangled in his hair is urging him lower and after too many wasted seconds he takes the hint and rolls her nipple across his tongue. She gasps and he groans and she’s fitting her lower body against him in ways he’s trying really hard not to think about because this is all he gets with Step Ten and he’s damn sure not gonna press his luck.  Besides, this part is pretty damn fantastic, too. 

Before long she’s panting and gasping and looking for something to do with her lips and tongue and when he glides his fingers – the ones not pressing a perfect outline of his hand into her breast – across her lips she nips and sucks at the pads of his fingers in the same way he just knows she’s going to do to the head of his—and he stops that train of thought before it’s moving so fast he can’t stop it.

When he takes a moment to breathe one gasping lungful of air after another, she rolls toward him and buries her face in his neck and bites gently against the corded muscle.  Her hands slide all across his torso and dip dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers.  He snags her wandering hand and presses it against his heaving belly and she flops onto her back next to him.  She flings her free arm over her head and she’s a perfect Venus in the stark relief of their bedroom shadows and shafts of moonlight.

Her chest heaves and he can’t help but watch the rise and fall of her breasts.  “Wow,” she breathes.  “That was…”

“Intense,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“We should do that again,” he purposefully drags her finger through the sweat on his belly.

“ _After_ I’ve fixed the heater,” she says.

“So,” and even he can hear the grin in his voice, “tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date.”

She lies next to him and breathes deeply for a few more moments and then pulls away from him and rolls out of bed.  “Where’re you going?”

She chuckles.  “Well, touch with intent to arouse, right?”

She smiles at him over her shoulder and crosses the room to her dresser.  In a patch of moonlight she stops and strips off her panties and tosses them at the hamper. She’s sterling silver with a perfect ass and for a few heartbeats it’s just him and her and her perfect, naked ass in the room.

He presses a hand against his insistent erection that doesn’t seem to get the hint that the party is over.

She pulls a clean pair of underwear out of her drawer and bends over to put them on.  He groans and swears he hears her laugh.

When she turns, he’s not even embarrassed to be found with his hand on his dick because now she’s sterling silver with a perfect rack and, “God, Sam, I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“Fresh underwear,” she says.

“Huh?”

“Touch with intent to arouse, right?” she asks him again.

Slowly, it dawns.  “Hey!  We did good!”

“Yes,” she says with a smile and slides back into the bed next to him.  “We did.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So,” she says over morning coffee, “last night was fun.”

“Last night was very fun.”

“And a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

“Well, we kind of got caught up in things.”

“I think that’s _good_. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says and slides his hand across the table to tangle their fingers together.

“I’m not so sure the next part is going to be that easy.”

“Step Eleven,” he says sagely.

“Step Eleven.”

“It’ll be fine.  We’ll take it nice and slow and we’ll stop if you need to.”

“Maybe it’ll go as smoothly as the last ones,” she says hopefully.

“And if it doesn’t, it doesn’t,” he says with a small shrug.  “We’ll get there. And have a lot of fun along the way.”

When she grins at him, it’s genuine, but he can see a hint of fear in her eyes.  But that’s okay.  Because now there’s not a doubt in his mind they’ll figure it out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you catch issues, problems, or typos please DO point them out to me. Thank you!


	29. Secondary Emotion: Lust

She’s gotten bolder and he’s gotten damn near reliable about _forgetting_ to close the bathroom door, so it’s almost inevitable when she catches him in the shower, one hand braced against the tile, the other wrapped around an impressive erection. She stops in her tracks. He hasn’t heard her over the pounding of the water – or the blood rushing in his ears – and she’s got front row tickets to a show she’s suddenly very curious to see.  Clearly he’s not embarrassed about being caught in such a position. He is, after all, the one who left the door open.  And, in recent weeks, it’s become commonplace for them to coexist within that space.

She’s also noticed he’s not a man who is shy about his sexuality.  She’s quite pleased to discover, actually, that he’s not all that modest within the confines of his own home, as she rather enjoys seeing him in various stages of undress.

Naked and aroused, however, is quite different than naked, aroused, and masturbating, her hormones supply, and she’s suddenly flooded with desire – a real and aching desire that has no part of fear within it.

The glass enclosure of the shower hides nothing from her – especially considering that stuff he sprays on it to discourage fog; _once spec ops always spec ops_ , he’d said with a spray bottle in one hand, a squeegee in the other, and a glint of the past in his eyes.  Finally she must breathe too deeply, or maybe he just opens his eyes because he catches sight of her.  He smiles lazily, his hips moving steadily into his grasp.

“So,” he says, “Step Ten was fun this morning.”

“Yes,” she replies and can’t quite believe the breathy quality of her voice.  “It was.”

_He’d teased her nipple with his tongue, flicking it quickly then laving slowly before drawing on her deeply and then repeating until she’d slipped a hand between them and then between her own legs to press tightly against her insistent clit that was keeping time with her racing heart.  The cotton beneath her hand was damp and warm and the pressure allowed her to take a deep breath in those moments she was sure she was going to hyperventilate.  He’d followed the path of her hand with his eyes, pulling back from her breast long enough to groan.  Abruptly, he’d rolled onto his back and she couldn’t help but notice how hard he was, the way he grasped himself at the base of his penis and took deep breaths. They laid there, panting, hands between their own legs cooling down rather than heating up._

It feels a little stupid now, watching the way he’s happy and languid in his arousal and quest to bring himself off, to have stopped this morning what her body is all but begging for right now. Then he offers to take his party to the bed if she really wants to watch and she’s faced with the prospect of watching the fruits of his labors spill against his body.  The momentary image of semen on skin makes red flash in front of her eyes and the pleasant light-headedness from moments ago is suddenly something acrid winding down the back of her throat.

It must shadow her eyes, because he’s out of the shower, holding her by her upper arms and soaking her clothing, guiding her to the toilet where she can sit on the lid and catch her breath. All the while the hot water runs behind him, unheeded.  He’s not hard anymore, she realizes – confronted with his groin the way she is – as he regards her carefully.  Somehow it makes her feel better to know his arousal can be tied so closely to her own.

“Sam?  Tell me what it was?” he drops down in front of her, one knee digging in to the fuzzy, u-shaped rug in front of the toilet.

She’s had little moments, here and there, as they’ve learned how to touch one another – as she’s learned her body and its responses all over again – little moments where something didn’t sit quite right or things she remembered loving suddenly felt wrong.  She’s not as sensitive as she used to be in certain places. Far more sensitive, she’s found, in others.  He’s talked to her honestly about all those things.  Coaxed words out of her she didn’t even feel comfortable saying _before_ her concept of sex had changed.

She tells him now how she’d wiped semen from her dirty thighs and belly, how at first, when she was healthy enough, she’d reached inside herself to empty what she could in the wake of a birth control shot that was overdue just days after they’d been delayed on that planet. She leaves to take some Tylenol and when he joins her for coffee she doesn’t mention she overhead him throwing up.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A couple of days after the upsetting masturbatory experience, Jack finds himself clicking through all the pages he can find online regarding Step Eleven – hand to genitals – especially if those sites specifically reference rape victims.  He finds nothing of value.  Or, at least, he finds nothing that gives him the guts to broach the idea of Step Eleven with Sam.

Finally, out of desperation, he calls Natalie. It’s Saturday and he’s grateful when she agrees to meet with him that very afternoon.

In her den, they sit on buttery leather furniture with cups of hot coffee and he comments that Erin’s car wasn’t even in the driveway. Natalie shrugs, smiles and says their session gave Erin an excuse to spend some time digging through an antique store she’d found.

He doesn’t pull any punches when he recounts the events in the bathroom and he’s pretty proud of himself when he doesn’t blush. In the end, he just asks, “So what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Exactly what you have been doing,” Natalie supplies, unhelpfully, in his opinion.

“No, I mean, at some point she’s going to ask me to pull out the Step Eleven stuff, and I’ve got to tell you, Doc, this might be the first time in my life I’m not looking forward to getting my hands wet.” This time he does blush. “So to speak.”

“Jack, there’s no telling what’s going to set her off and what isn’t.  I don’t think any of us saw the semen thing coming.  The memory is a funny thing.  You and I might watch the same event, at the same time, from the same angle. But your brain might choose seven or eight details to help in recalling that event while mine might choose only four and they might all be different.  That’s why there’s no magic formula for helping victims of sexual trauma reintegrate into sexual relationships.  You two are further burdened by not having prior positive sexual encounters to call upon. 

“You’ve been doing great so far. You’re taking your time with her, you’re not pressuring her, you’re being honest with her.  You just keep doing that.  Most importantly, you keep giving her as much time as she needs. It seems like she’s coming to you when she’s ready for the next step.  If it takes a little longer to get her through this one, well, that’s the way it goes.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She waits impatiently for him to get home. When he told her he was going to talk to Natalie, she pulled out the books Natalie had given her and tried to figure out how to get past her sudden aversion to the physical proof of his pleasure. She’d called Janet and the two of them had a frank discussion about ejaculate that Sam could have, in hindsight, probably lived without.  But turning it into a bodily function seems to have helped.  And now, when she pictures Jack coming she pictures the flex of his belly and the slide of his hand instead of sticky white fluid.

She wants to feel his abdomen tense under her hand. She wants to find out if his hips will press into the mattress or into the air.  She wants to know if he’ll bite his lip or if he’ll say her name and if he closes his eyes when he comes.  Somewhere along the line she’d forgotten there was more to his orgasm than the messy part and her body hums with the desire to learn him.

When he walks through the door he’s barely set his keys on the little table when she’s telling him what she wants. His eyebrows climb towards his hairline but she can tell he’s interested.  She kisses him, trembles with the way he groans into her mouth and follows her with his lips when she starts backing down the hallway.

She likes the way he sucks in his belly when she reaches for the button on his pants and the way the hairs on his abdomen feel against the backs of her fingers.  With a little more moxie than she truly feels, she trails the backs of her fingers down his zipper and feels the power of an erection for the first time in far longer than she really even remembers.  One thing she was never made to do was touch the Jaffa.  And for that she’s really grateful.  Because when he says it’s okay, when it’s not going to be too much of a tease, her palm is already itching for the feeling of him in her hand.

He lays back on the bed, naked thanks to their busy hands, and she settles next to him on her side, propped up with her head in her hand.  When he takes himself in hand, he looks her in the eye and tells her that she’s beautiful, that he’s so happy she’s in his life, and that she makes him feel like a good man.

She doesn’t look at his penis, he watches the way she licks her lips, she puts her hand on his forearm and revels in the power of the muscles there as they flex.  Before he comes he holds her hand to his belly, she feels the way he quivers and when he comes he’s careful to come into the cup of his hand.

When he goes to clean up she catalogues his reactions: the way his hips pressed up into his hand, the way he bit the tip of his tongue and groaned, and mostly the way he never took his eyes off hers.

When he comes back to the bed he lays down facing her where she’s still propped up with her head in her hand. He puts a hand on her hip and kisses her deeply.  He ignores the way she reflexively rolls her hips into him but lets his caress feather down onto her ass, touching a part of her he’s carefully avoided until now. It’s pleasant and it makes her tingle.

After a few moments they’re just lying there, petting one another softly in the wake of the heat they’d created.

“Have you touched yourself since you’ve been home?” he asks her, seemingly out of the blue, but in the wake of what they’ve done she doesn’t quite feel embarrassed by the question.

“Once,” she says and is amused at the incredulous look he doesn’t quite school in time.

“Okay, I’ve gotta say I wasn’t expecting that.” He glides his hand over her hip and tucks his finger into the belt loop of her jeans.  “Did you come?”

She shakes her head.  “No.  But I wasn’t trying very hard.  I just wondered if I felt different.”

“Did you?”

“No.  Not at all.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I don’t know.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It takes a few days but finally she says something about wanting to touch him.  Part of him screams _YES!_ while part of him worries that maybe it’s  not really time for Step Eleven.  All the literature says that it’s really the point of no return.  That if they start touching each other _that_ way and then don’t go _all the way,_ that secretly one or the other of them is going to be pissed about it.  He likes to think his self-control is better at his age, but it’s been a long time since he’s been in a relationship where sex wasn’t the foregone conclusion to heavy petting.

“Look, it doesn’t actually say this anywhere, but I can’t help but think it’s important that you’re able to touch yourself before _I_ touch you. I’m just saying that the first thing inside you after everything you’ve been through should probably be something you’ve got complete control over.”

While she mulls it over, he considers that it’s probably the most sexually insightful thing he’s ever said – even if it turns out to be a load of crap.

“I _have_ touched myself,” she finally reminds him.

“But you didn’t come.”

She blushes and looks away from him, embarrassed in the light shining on her own body’s lack of reaction.

“What if you took care of that part, and I was with you?  Talking to you? Touching the parts of you I’ve already touched?”

She tells him she’s uncomfortable with the idea of masturbating in front of him, how it’s something she hadn’t even been comfortable doing _before_. Finally, she agrees to think about it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s sitting on the couch when she tells him she trusts him and she wants to try.  She goes off to take a hot bath with a half a glass of wine – enough to take the edge off but not enough to lower her inhibitions to some place she may not be happy about afterwards.

When she rejoins him, she finds he’s taken the time to build a fire, lower the living room lights, and make a soft pallet of blankets on the floor.  A dry snow curls around outside and she figures this is as good a place as any to get in touch with her feminine side.

She’s barely dressed in a short satin robe and her hair is wet and tucked back behind her ears.  The look he gives her makes anticipation prickle low in her belly. She settles next to him on the floor and pulls the slick tie on her robe before her nerves get the better of her. He reaches for her, but he stops just short of actually touching her.  Instead he kisses her deeply, probing the deep parts of her mouth with his tongue.

The feel of his mouth against hers, so familiar now, so exhilarating, makes her fingers itch to touch skin. She settles for her own, knowing this is why they’re here.  She threads her other fingers into his hair and guides his mouth down from hers until she can nudge his lips with her breast. He looks up at her and smiles and she feels the first real flood of arousal sweep down her body and settle behind her clit. She’s compelled to trail her fingers down her body.  She remembers the way she’d finger the edges of her belly button and how the almost-tickle would heighten her anticipation.  She’s pleased to discover that trick still works, that somewhere inside her the same things still bring her pleasure, that while Major Carter might be different, Samantha – at the heart of things – isn’t so different after all.

She dips her hands between her legs and feels the way she’s already wet to the touch.  She strokes up one side of the sensitive bundle of nerves and down the other, faltering before she finds a familiar rhythm perfected over a decade ago. She concentrates on the scrape of his teeth against her nipples, the flick of his tongue against her skin, the light suction over her breastbone, the way he can’t go more than a few breaths without leaning into her and kissing her.

When he stops to catch his breath, resting forehead to forehead with her, she catches the heavy, heady scent of her arousal and so does he.  Together they look down her body. Her fingers glisten wetly in the firelight.   He watches her draw almost lazy circles around her clit, and she feels oddly like she should be doing more to race towards her finish line.  In her past, she’d have been rough with herself, a little insistent, fast. She’d have buried fingers inside herself.  And while what she’s doing feels good, it doesn’t feel good enough.

But she knows she can come this way. If she just concentrates hard enough, if she just pictures him in her mind… he’s a better lover than she ever fantasized him being and there’s so much they haven’t even done yet. Back when, back before everything that happened, just the thought of him in her bed, the imagined feel of his mouth on her skin was enough.  The reality, in this moment, it’s _not_ enough. She wants things she’s afraid to give herself.  She feels empty and clutching.

“Hey,” he says softly, “it’s okay to stop.”

She realizes she’s tense and the sounds she’s making are frustrated.  He’s still stroking the skin of her belly but the tension she’s quivering with isn’t from the pleasured end of the coil.

“No,” she says in a rush of breath. “It’s not.”

He reaches for the hand that’s buried between her legs and pulls it up to rest damply between her belly and his hand. “Yes.  It is.”

“I’m so close,” she says and squeezes her eyes shut. A tear slips down the side of her face and she suddenly hates herself.

“Open your eyes, Sam.”

The sound of his voice, a soft and loving bedroom version of the Colonel she’d followed so long, makes her stop the spiral into her thoughts.  She breathes for a moment and then locks eyes with him.  He drags her hand back down to her heat, their fingers tangle together where she’s not as wet as she was.  He kisses her; she arches under their hands in a way that must be ingrained. He pushes her fingers down farther until they’re positioned at her opening.  He taps the back of her hand to indicate she shouldn’t move when he pulls his hand away and despite a little trepidation, she doesn’t. Not even when he licks the ends of his fingers.  He reaches back down and taps her clit softly.  Her hips spring up into the cup of his hand and she mewls into his mouth. The intensity of her reaction to his touch surprises her even after everything she’s already experienced with him.

He kisses her languidly, his fingers moving rhythmically beneath her wrist and then she shifts, her body hungry for things her brain is still fighting, and she gently, slowly slides a finger deep inside herself. Her muscles clench around the intrusion but not in the way she feared, not in protestation but in appreciation for filling the chasm that’s been a part of her for so long now. They move together until she’s wet all over again and it’s only minutes more before she wrenches her mouth away from his and sighs against his ear.  She’s unusually quiet when she comes.  It’s not powerful, the earth doesn’t move, but she tightens and then she relaxes into the pleasure that rolls through her like waves.

She disappears inside herself for as long as she can, cataloguing their reactions to one another.  When she resurfaces, he’s stroking her hips, her ribs. He threads their fingers together and grounds her against blankets they’re lying on.

When she meets his eyes again he says, “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She laughs.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Off-world he eats goop out of an MRE bag and warms his feet by the fire.  He shivers and scoots a little closer to the flames.  As far as he’s concerned they shouldn’t be traveling to planets in their winter season when it’s already winter on Earth.  Where’s the fun in that?

“Cold, Jack?”

Damn straight he’s cold.  At home there’s a woman and a fireplace he can’t get out of his head.  Instead he’s got a campfire, a couple of two-man tents, and a team of guys who haven’t showered in three days.

Three days.  He thinks about what he’s missing.  She’s probably at home, he checks his watch, in bed, doing her _homework_.  He’s wondering if she’s worked back up to earth-shattering climaxes yet or if she’s saving that part of the experience for him. 

Across the fire, Daniel and Mctierney exchange knowing glances and he knows his far-off gaze gave him away. “I’m fine,” he grouses, but takes the fourth watch in retaliation for their good humor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

At home, the smell of his aftershave makes her tingle in all the interesting places.  Without him there, she finds her body yearning for things she can’t give it – like the hard planes of his chest against hers and the as yet untested feeling of his heavy arousal against her thigh.  She finds herself cycling through all the anticipatory feelings she’d had just before she’d slept with Harrison Adams the first time after junior prom.

Suddenly, in its absence, the idea of Jack’s hard penis is something she wants more than anything in recent memory. The night before he comes home, she’s turned on in a way she hasn’t been in a very long time, she forgets her fear and thrusts two fingers deeply inside herself, and when she comes it’s loud and harsh and familiar, the way her fantasies of him were before he’d become her reality.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In the end it’s not awkward the first time she wraps her hand around his hard-on.  Her fingers are slick with her own arousal when their mutual masturbation turns into Step Eleven.  She tenses when he slides his middle finger inside her, pressing upwards against her tissues, but he coaxes her through it with soft words and the flick of his tongue against her ear lobe.  He thrusts into her hand and when the head of his dick bumps against her thigh she jumps, closes her eyes and redoubles her efforts to stay in the moment.

When he comes he turns from her so he comes on himself. He doesn’t stop her when she reaches out to trace her finger through the white ribbon of pleasure on his ribcage.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next time, she asks him to come on her and he resists.  Can’t, as a matter of fact.  The simple request kills his desire as quickly as she makes it.  She hugs him, kisses him, but he leaves their bed and storms around the kitchen looking for Guinness and a pint glass for fifteen minutes before he gives up on both and goes back to bed.  He’s angry at himself for getting angry during sex but she just smiles, kisses his forehead and strokes him back to readiness.  When it’s time to come she doesn’t mention where he might do that and when he lets go he doesn’t notice the way he spills over her fingers.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When it finally happens, it isn’t a conscious decision. His fingers are inside her, her head is thrown back and she’s begging him for something but neither knows just what. With a quick movement, he’s on his back and she’s astride him, his hard cock trapped between them drenched in her insistent desire.  She moves against him, rolling her hips over him.  He raises his hands to her breasts but it’s not enough.  Then she’s reaching between them and before he can ask her if she’s sure, he’s inside her. 

They stop.  Her eyes fly open and she plants a hand over his heart.  She releases a shuddery exhale and the shocked look on her face melts into an intense pleasure he’s never seen.  Her head falls back, she worries her bottom lip with her teeth and then she’s moving.  Sliding up and down, she grasps his waist with her free hand. 

He coaxes her down and kisses her deeply, revels in the way her teeth scrape across is jaw, rests his hand on the jut of her hip bone.

“Do you want…on our sides?” he asks, not sure if she wanted or needed the control or if she just needed _him_ , finally.

She nods and they tip over.  He coaxes her thigh up over his hip and he leans back just a little until she’s completely open for him.  He pushes his hips up into her and the pleased and needy sounds she’s making are better than anything he’s ever heard because whatever it is that’s happening in her head has nothing to do with her past and everything to do with their future.

She doesn’t come when he’s inside her, but she clenches around him as he does and he watches her carefully, subjugating his greater pleasure to see if anything negative happens in her eyes. When he reaches between them and fills her with his fingers and presses into her clit with the heel of his hand, she tenses and he murmurs to her; forehead to forehead, her eyes squeezed closed, she comes, mouth open, hips tipping into his hand.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Later they make toast and coffee in the dim lights from the Christmas tree two rooms away.  There’s an ease and fluidity about the way she moves, a boneless liquidity. She drinks half of her coffee and eats both their toast before pulling him into the living room with the smile he remembers from the early days when all he had was the way he could make her laugh.

The make love again and he watches the way the white lights turn her pale skin golden and blonde hair silver. This time when she comes it’s clenching tightly around him so he follows her over the edge. There’s no hesitation. There’s no fear. There’s no memory the two of them haven’t made together.

 

 


	30. Primary Emotion: Love

Jack’s not one for showy displays of emotion, but when she gets up Christmas morning she finds hot coffee and a note from him on the counter saying he’d gone to drag Janet’s little car out of the snow. The thought of him going out into the cold on Christmas morning without complaint to help a friend makes her heart flop over in her chest.  He’s a good man. This isn’t the first time she’s noticed, but the reminders never lose their poignancy.

She thinks of the way he kissed her as Christmas Eve turned into Christmas day, about the look in his eyes when he slid inside her, their hands tangled together, and she realizes she’s never in her life felt the intensity of emotion she feels when he looks at her that way.

She’d long ago drawn a line inside herself – before Jack, before Votan, before the SGC, even – between loving someone and being _in love_ with someone. She’s been _in love_ several times in her life but, in her experience, _in love_ is a completely different, often fleeting emotion than a real love – the kind of love she shared with her family – tended to be.  But when she looks in Jack’s eyes, the distinction is either gone or it doesn’t matter, or really, she’s just loved him for a long time.  Because she’s known she was _in love_ with him for a while.  But there’s no doubt now that she simply loves him.  Full stop.  He’s a part of her. She's not melodramatic enough to say she couldn’t live without him, but she’s honest enough to admit she’s glad she doesn’t have to; she wouldn’t want to.

Later, he sets a platter of perfectly prepared goose in the center of a table surrounded by her dad, Teal’c, Mctierney, Daniel, Janet, and Cassie, and she realizes, as she meets his eye, that there are a lot of things she doesn’t want to do without these days.  She hasn’t ever had a group of people like this in her life. And she’s never felt quite as full as she feels with her friends and her family gathered around her table for Christmas dinner.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sometimes he’ll wrap himself around her and sway with her, his chest pressed tightly against her back, hands splayed across her ribs. There’s always some silent music that must play in his head as he guides her feet in an intricately rhythmic back-and-forth she can’t fight and can only give herself over to. He tucks his face into her neck and she can feel his smile against her skin.

Neither is inclined towards verbal declarations of love, and in little moments like this she hopes he doesn’t need her to say it; she doesn’t need to hear him say it.  She knows it by the way his heart beats against her and his palms press into her body.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam is a woman constantly in motion except, he’s discovered, on Sunday mornings.  She wakes him up for slow, rolling sex in the silver light of dawn. He loves the way the cobalt blue Egyptian cotton sheets she bought pool over his lap and around his hands on her hips as she rocks above him.  After she comes, her hand planted in the middle of his chest and her head thrown back in rapture, she’ll sprawl across the bed letting her skin cool in the slight winter chill the heater can’t quite chase away.  She’ll let him write love notes on her glistening skin with the edge of his index finger while he draws promises over her scars with his tongue.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

For her birthday he wakes her up with breakfast in bed and hides his grin when she opens a pastel pink box filled with tissue paper, burgundy silk and cream lace.  She smiles sweetly and kisses him slowly, completely oblivious to his nearly palpable excitement.  It’s late afternoon when she finds the ’51 panhead in the garage.  He finds himself with an armful of Samantha Carter, her legs wrapped around his waist, her tongue down his throat.

“Hey,” he says, and squeezes her ass, “I know what my girl likes.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On New Year’s Eve she laughs tipsily when he pulls the engagement ring from her finger and drops it into her flute of champagne. Golden bubbles race her giggle to the top of the glass.  At midnight, he dips her for a kiss that goes on longer than the one he stolen similarly more than a year before.  She tells him he’d better not drop her but she smiles and strokes the hair at his temple. Later he sees her with her glass, her engagement diamond still twinkling at the bottom of the sparkling wine. She’s talking to Janet but she has eyes only for him.  He wonders how long she’s been watching him and enjoys the slow burn of pleasure in his belly.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She knows it’s love when she gets in a stupid, snow-fuelled accident and wrecks his truck.  Even when it’s clear she’s okay, more irritated than anything else, he fusses over her scraped knuckles and not his mangled quarter panel. Later she catches him bemoaning the repair estimate to Teal’c but smiles because he didn’t giver her hell for it, not even once.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are you doing these days?” Natalie asks. Now that Sam’s sessions are down to once every two or three weeks she relies more heavily on Sam’s responses – especially now that she believes them.

“I’m,” Sam falters, then smiles, “I’m good.” She nods enthusiastically. “I’m _really_ good.”

“The wedding is in a couple of weeks.”

“It is.  My dad’s gating in.  My brother and his wife are going to come for the weekend.”  She grins.  “Teal’c’s got a new hat.”

“It’s going to be lovely, I’m sure.” Natalie closes the notebook that’s always open and on her lap.  “Sam, I’m clearing you for active duty.”

Sam’s eyes go wide.  “What?”

 “You knew this was coming,” Natalie soothes. “You’re cleared to go through the gate.”

“I don’t want to go through the gate,” Sam says with a hint of panic in her voice.

“You don’t have to.  Not right now.  But one day you may change your mind.  One day, you might not have a choice.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever really be ready for that.”

“I think you will.  We can keep working on that.  Now that you’ve found yourself again, we can start working on your fear responses.”

“So I still have mandated sessions?”

“Not mandated. I hope you’ll still come see me to work through some things.  But I’m not your treating physician anymore.  You just come see me when you need to.”

Sam nods and looks down at her hands. After a few deep breaths she looks back up and meets Natalie’s eyes.  “Janet and I get together on Thursday evenings and have a glass of wine. You should join us.”

“I’d like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sam and Jack get married in their living room then take everyone to dinner, in their wedding finery, at O’Malley’s. Teal’c and Mctierney hustle a couple of guys at pool until Sam steps in and wipes the floor with all of them. Daniel makes a couple of attempts at a too-long speech that Janet thwarts with kisses that make him blush and Cassie gag. Her brother and her dad both tell embarrassing stories until she threatens to tell everyone about _the WD-40 incident_. Sam sings bad karaoke with Janet, Erin and Sylvia, her sister-in-law.  Natalie waves them off and steals a fresh bottle of beer out from under Jack’s nose while he laughs at them.  Cassie buries her head in her hands and tells anyone that will listen that her mom is _definitely_ not up on that stage.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A year in, they still sometimes fight about the little things.  He leaves wet towels on the floor; she forgets to recycle beer bottles.  Sometimes they fight about the big things, like Jack trading himself for Mctierney and spending three nerve-racking days in an alien version of a psychological experiment. 

Sometimes she’s a bitch just because she knows how to be.  Sometimes he’s insufferable because it’s the quickest way to push her buttons.  And sometimes their demons make command appearances in the middle of the night and the fights get sidelined for the really important things.

She soothes his frayed nerves with Guinness and space; he takes her to the hammock and wraps himself around her. Somehow they work out all those little details she’d never had to figure out before and he proves that he can say whatever he likes but he’s damn good at being a husband. Because no matter what they fight about, and no matter which demons rear their ugly heads, she never goes to bed thinking he doesn’t love her. 

They’re still not good at saying the words but they don’t really need them.  They say them when it really matters and the rest of the time they just work on proving it. Proving it turns out to be more fun, anyway.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It takes two years but when she steps foot onto an alien planet it feels like her life.  To her left, Teal’c’s hand tightens on his staff weapon. Mctierney comes barreling out of the gate behind her.  SG-3 takes up a defensive position around the gate.  In front her, she watches as Jack surveys the landscape with cold calculation.

He doesn’t even take his eyes off the horizon. “You okay, Carter?”

“She is fine, O’Neill,” Teal’c answers for her when she hesitates slightly.

Her nerves settle as the man she’s come to know as her gentle husband steps into the old, comfortable role of her Colonel. He spares no soft, sweet words for his wife who was visibly nervous as she’d ascended the embarkation ramp. As always, better than anyone else she’s ever known, Jack knows exactly what to say to her, despite his insistence that he’s crap with words.

Her fingers tighten around her P90. “Yes, sir.  I’ve got your six.”

With the same integral trust he’s always had in her he steps off.  “SG-3, you’ve got the gate. Teal’c, Carter, Cap’n, you’re with me. Let’s go get Daniel.”

She slides her sunglasses into place and follows him down the stone steps into the sea of sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Final Note: Well, that’s is it. The final chapter. A coda, if you will. 
> 
> Very nearly four years after it’s conception, I’m finally able to put a period on this. Eight months ago, though prepared to write this tale, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. It was my first giant leap into this fandom (and my first venture into a fandom for a show that had been off the air for many years). I have met so many incredible people through the forums – where I gathered the strength to burst full-force into a new fandom – and the comments you all have been kind enough to leave. You’ve challenged me and made me think as often as you’ve blatantly stroked my ego. There have been painful moments for me as I know there have been for some of you but I like to think those moments made me a better person as well as a better writer.
> 
> I have other projects in the works – both fannish and not – and am anxious to rest my head from this for a while. But as stories of this length frequently do, ideas for supplemental material have spawned. In the coming days I’ll clean up a few deleted scenes and post them. I’ve got plans for a few one shots and perhaps another muti-chapter work in this universe. But I’m definitely going to go breathe for a little while before I get to work on them.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me for so long. Thank you to those of you who had faith in an unknown writer that you wouldn’t be left in the dark place this story shed light on. Thank you to those of you who put your hand up to let me know I’d typo’d, to ask questions, or to offer friendly advice. Thanks to the people who challenged my conceptions and perceptions. And thank you, most of all, to the friends I’ve made along the way. Writing is the way I tap into the parts of me I often leave unexposed. Thank you for treating me with care.


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